


Live To Fight Another Day

by Captain_Kiri_Storm



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Amputation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Biting, Bottom Brock Rumlow, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Families of Choice, Forbidden Love, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt! Rumlow, M/M, Medical Trauma, NSFW, Not Canon Compliant, PLEASE HEED THE TAGS, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Recovery, Starvation, Team as Family, Trust Issues, dark content, everyone has PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-09-07 06:28:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 29,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kiri_Storm/pseuds/Captain_Kiri_Storm
Summary: It's what he does, right?Live to fight another day, even if everything has gone to hell. Because he's a stubborn son of a bitch and he's not giving them the joy of seeing him break. No matter how many broken bones or nights bleeding out on concrete. He's taken worse (not really) before. No two bit son of a bitch is going to break him down to the bare parts so some fuckhead can break him apart and put him back together again.Brock Rumlow isn't going to go down without a fight and damn him, he's going to get the root of his problem out, too.Even if it kills him.





	1. Chapter 1

Everything _hurt_.

And by everything, he meant _everything_. There wasn't a place on his body that didn't feel like he had sandpaper and acid rubbing up against it. Nasty feeling, that. Whatever he'd been stuck with wouldn't let him die and he'd felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin as the gashes healed over. Healing as fast as he did now meant that it felt like ants were crawling over his skin until things scabbed over. If he scratched, it only itched more. You learned not to scratch. You learned not to do anything at all, because the fuckheads guarding the door might think you were going to escape again. If they thought you were going to escape again, they'd beat you half to death with their guns and then go make Winter scream for a few hours.

They wouldn't make him scream. Someone in the higher ups had figured out that Brock was pretty fucking resistant to pain. What got him, though, was hearing the reason why he got into this mess screaming bloody murder and pleading for mercy. Not that mercy ever came. Getting tortured was something Brock came to expect during his tenure as a captive. Things happened. It was the name of the game, shit he signed up for when he put his name on the dotted line, just like every other ex-military guy in here. At the time, Brock figured that they would patch up his shoulder and he'd serve a few years and go home. It was a cushy government job and he could make a few hundred thousand easy before heading down south.

Yeah, _right_. Because _he_ showed up, with those fucking blue eyes and long brown hair. Eyes that didn't understand what the hell was happening to him or why he hurt so much. Eyes that looked like the scared dog Brock had coaxed out of a gutter when he was twelve. Turned out the dog was ex-fighting and working with that was pretty similar to working with the Winter Soldier. No sudden moves, food, and a half decent place to sleep. Presto, he had his own loyal to the death bodyguard. It was just like being twelve and dealing with the bullies in school, though this time he had the fucking Winter Soldier, not a beat up old Tosa Inu with an attitude problem.

The dog, though, never got him in this much trouble. Not even when Jackie Boy tore the neighbor's Rottweiler to shreds.

Brock tried to curl up as best he could to save heat. They're stripped him naked and every so often, someone would douse him with a bucket of cold water. Probably to get the smell off, but it was their damn fault for keeping him in a cell with no hot water and a bucket to piss in. Lying on cold concrete wasn't exactly good for his old bones, but you did what you had to do. They'd taken his cot after he tried to hang himself with the material. That little message was loud and clear - Brock could die when they wanted him too, but not before. Escape wasn't exactly likely, seeing as he'd lost his left leg at the knee. That was a present from trying to escape and damn near succeeding.

Twenty feet and he would have been out the doors and into the busy street. Twenty feet and he would have gotten Captain America himself to kill these fucks before he dropped off the face of the earth. Twenty feet and he wouldn't have to listen to Winter scream every time they did something to his head or fucked him in creative ways. Unlike Brock, Winter healed himself within ten minutes and didn't die from a thing like an infection. And unlike Brock, Winter had no idea what he'd done or why this was happening to him. Brock did and it was his own damn fault. He'd fucked up. He'd let Project Insight go to hell and let some crazy bastard from level two kill Pierce. As much as he hated the man, Pierce tended to reward fuck ups with the firing squad, not turning it into "stress relief" for the STRIKE teams.

Yeah, he deserved this. Deserved it for not watching his back, for forgetting who and what he worked for, and for getting himself in this mess. He'd known that his team didn't like him before all this, but not to the actual extent they despised him. Yeah, he was a hard ass. Yeah, some of them deserved it. And yeah, he'd let Winter loose on a couple of them. Didn't let Winter kill them, but he let Winter scare the shit out of them. It was only fair, fucking up a mission like that. Better to get scared straight by Brock's personal attack dog rather than get dragged out in a body bag and sent home in a can. Brock might not have been a good person, but he hated killing for the sake of killing.

Rollins was into that shit. Not him.

Someone kicked on the bars of his cell, giving Brock a nasty look. "You finally decided to shut your trap?"

"You finally decided to grow a brain?" Brock pulled himself up as best he could, cursing from the limited mobility. When he got out, he was going to napalm the entire place. Fuck HYDRA and fuck SHIELD. If Captain America got caught in the crossfire, it sucked to be him. He gave whoever it was a crooked grin. He wasn't beaten. Not yet. No matter what they did. "Looks like you got your cue cards from goat herders in Afghanistan. You gonna kidnap Tony Stark next? Seems right up your alley!"

The man growled and grabbed the bars. "Why you little - !"

"Bars work both ways, moron," Brock retorted. His ribs did something that _really_ hurt and he groaned, sinking down as best he could. His leg was still oozing blood and what he wouldn't give for a cigarette right about now. "You finally figure that out? Or did taking a fall off a helicarrier break your brain?"

The man roared and a light flashed green. Brock groaned and braced himself for the beating. The guy probably wouldn't fuck him. They usually showed him down for that, as Brock had made a habit of getting himself filthy, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to get beaten. He braced himself as best he could when the boot smashed through his ribs. The guy started shouting something that wasn't English and next thing he knew, more screams joined his. Brock gritted his teeth. He added this asshole to his hit list and wished he had more strength so he could test out Fischer's augments a little more thoroughly. Doing that required food, though, and Brock couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.

A rifle butt smashed into his face, freezing him. Brock gasped some and that was when he was hauled up by his wrists. Collier grabbed him and yanked on his hair, forcing the injured man down. Brock fought them as best he could, more from instinct than any hope he might escape, and sunk his teeth into Collier's wrist. The resulting lashing was worth the man's screams and Brock felt his mind start to float under the pain. He didn't fight it. He could come back to reality later. Dreaming about the fucking Winter Soldier was a hell of a lot better than getting whipped by someone he once trusted with his life.

He was going to kill Collier. And the man who owned a horsewhip. He was going to kill both of them _creatively_.


	2. Chapter 2

It was amazing how much he could take without cracking. It was also amazing how far some of these assholes were willing to go to get what they wanted out of him. One of them was Collier, a guy Brock really hadn't gotten to know before everything went to hell. Collier was a big blonde gorilla who made nasty comments to Captain America before Brock made him stop. He could make those comments on his own time. Not when Captain America had the Stark HR department on his side and the fucking Avengers to put Collier in his place. However, Brock was pretty sure that getting bitched at for making crude comments in no way made any of this justified. If bitching at people meant you got tortured, then Collier was in for a world of hurt himself.

Hands dug into the still healing wounds on his face, making Brock grunt in pain. His leg trembled beneath him, but he couldn't let it falter. If he fell, he was going to put all his weight on his wrists and killing people required you to have both of your wrists intact. They had put him on cinder blocks and stretched his body out so he was just barely standing on his tip toes. And then _left_ him there. The strain of it killed what was left of his muscles and sweat poured off of Brock's body. He grunted some, trying to find a way to ease the pressure without snapping his wrists. His tongue felt dry and swollen in his mouth and every so often, the world swam around him.

If he didn't get water soon, he was going to collapse. If he collapsed, he wasn't going to be getting out of here. Not that he could break down doors and go running out the back with only one leg, but it was enough to keep him going. All Brock needed was a piece of pipe and he could hobble his way on out of here. Clothes weren't required, but water was. It reminded him of something he'd heard once: without water, he was-a goin' nowhere with this here job! And unlike the hick in the video, Brock actually cared about getting out of here alive. He didn't know how he'd do it, but he'd do it. He'd get himself patched up, he'd use the magic words on Winter, and then he'd get the hell out of dodge.

Maybe he'd get another Tosa Inu. If he was building castles in the sky, he might as well make 'em palaces.

Someone slammed the door and waltzed on in like he owned the place. Brock tried not to look at the man, tried to ignore the way his skin crawled as hands roamed over his body and pinched at his nipples. Brock had lost a lot of weight and he'd gone from toned to fairly scrawny in short order. The new metabolism he had wasn't helping anything, either. Still, it looked like Rollins didn't care. He seemed pretty pleased, touching Brock all over and mumbling something under his breath. Brock focused his eyes on the ceiling. He wasn't giving Rollins the benefit of a reaction. Not now, not ever. The guy had always been obsessed with him and now Brock couldn't exactly tell him to fuck off.

He wasn't in the mood to wind up on a table this evening. Thanks, but no. He was going to keep out of that one if he could help it. There was a fine line between pissing the guards off and getting himself fucked bloody. He'd learned that quick. It was hard to keep his mouth shut at times, but he did it. Though with the way his head was feeling, this wasn't going to be one of those days. Brock braced himself for the pain later. He could make it through this. He would have too. If Winter could do it, he could do it, and he wasn't letting a brain dead assassin show him up, no matter how pretty he looked or how warm he was. Brock was human. He liked his simple little pleasures as much as the next guy.

His happened to be cuddling with an ex-Soviet biological droid, but then, Rollins liked killing people and Murphy wasn't a saint, either.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Murphy slowly asked. The man walked around Brock, fidgeting some. "He bit the hell out of me the last time and I don't want to have another repeat."

"It's safe." Rollins pressed a button and Brock dropped to the floor. He let out an involuntary gasp at being let out of the restraints and stayed there, just trying to savor the feeling. His muscles would thank him later. If there was a later. Rollins knelt in front of Brock and pushed a bottle of water into his face. Brock wasn't stupid. He forced himself to drink it, ignoring the petting and the words. He wasn't the one fucking a prisoner, so whatever Rollins felt was his fault. He could always door dump Brock on some deserted road, but they both knew that wasn't going to happen. Rollins had Brock right where he wanted him and there was nothing Brock could do to change it.

Rollins jerked the water away as soon as he felt Brock was done and unzipped his pants. "Show me how much you appreciate my gift."

"It'd be better if I got a snack to go with it." Brock picked himself up with his hands, trying not to scream as the stump of his leg hit the floor. When this was over, he was going to do the exact same thing to Rollins, save fucking him all the damn time. No _way_ was he putting his dick into Rollins voluntarily. Hands gripped his hair and forced his head back. Brock got the hint and opened his mouth. He wasn't going to make this easy on them. He wasn't Winter, wondering why everything hurt and nothing ever felt any better. He tried not to gag when Rollins just pushed his way in. At least it was his mouth and not his ass, because he was pretty sure he was still torn up from the last little "exercise" he had.

Brock let his mind drift as he got Rollins off. The man tasted horrible, like he wasn't washing himself, and Brock would rather not be conscious during all of this. He tried to close his eyes and breathe through his nose, but there just was too much for him to get there. He could think about playing with his dog, but he could still feel his lungs starving for air and smell Rollins' stink. And they said_ he_ smelled bad. Rollins smelled like he'd been on a mission for a week and tasted like sweat and piss. Brock jerked his head back as soon as he could, his lungs heaving and his injured leg burning. That wasn't a good sign. Maybe the blood infection would take him out before STRIKE got bored with him.

Murphy grabbed his head, his eyes lingering on the bruises and burns littering his face. "Who did this? Westfahl? It looks like someone sprayed acid on his face."

"Westfahl. And he did." Rollins tucked himself back in and ruffled Brock's hair. If Brock had more energy, he'd bite the guy, but as it was, all he could do was just lay there and tune them both out. Someone was talking and he only hissed when a bright prick of pain stabbed his back. Then he smelled flesh burning and vaguely knew that was him. Brock opened his eyes wide and screamed, struggled to get away, but Rollins just held him down as Murphy put out his ever present cigarette in Brock's back. The man whimpered some after a few minutes, silently begging them to just _go away_ and let him die.

"Sounds like someone isn't so grateful," Murphy drawled. He kicked Brock in the ribs and grinned when Brock swore softly. "Let me alone with him, Jack. And we'll have some fun."

"It's my turn tonight." Rollins dragged Brock up and looked at him up and down. "You'll get yours, don't you worry. As for this one, I'll make sure he thanks me later." He grinned some and forced Brock to look up at him. Brock's eyes narrowed and before he knew it, he spat right in Rollin's face. The man bellowed and backhanded him, sending him flying into the air and colliding with the wall. His last thought before he blacked out was that all this was worth it.

Just to see the look on Rollins face. That was worth whatever was coming next.


	3. Chapter 3

Rollins shoved Brock into the wall as soon as they were in his quarters. The man shook in rage, his green eyes wild. For his part, Brock braced himself for what was about to happen. This wasn't going to be good, or fun. He'd earned it, though. Spitting on Jack fucking Rollins was a surefire way to get yourself sent straight to hell. Brock tried to go as limp as he could. He'd learned that if he tensed and braced himself, it hurt all that much more. His back was screaming at him and the last thing he wanted to do was tear the injuries up even more. Being torn was another thing. The blood would lubricate the way, meaning that if his half healed ass tore again, he wasn't going to tear worse. Or so he thought.

Brock hadn't ever tested the theory. Winter told him something along those lines on a lonely night. At the time, Brock had had to excuse himself, shooting at the pigeons until he cooled down. Now he was thankful he'd had that conversation. It was about to get ugly in here and, for once, it was all his fault. If Rollins hated him before, he certainly did now.

The big man backhanded Brock, sending him down to the floor. Brock braced himself. He looked up, wondering what Rollins wanted from him, because he couldn't exactly get standing again. That was the consequence of only having one leg. Those fuckers should have thought about that before they tied him down and cut it off. Rollins circled Brock, slapping and kicking him as he saw fit. For his part, Brock just took it. He curled up when Rollins pistol whipped him, trying to protect his middle so nothing truly awful happened there. The man snarled at him. He grabbed Brock by the hair and jerked his head back, a serrated blade resting just over Brock's Adam's apple. Brock swallowed out of reflex. He tried not to close his eyes, but the instinct was too strong.

So he waited. Waited for a few long seconds that felt like forever.

"I should kill you for that," Rollins growled. He pressed the knife in deeper and Brock felt a pinprick of pain. He could smell the blood, felt it start to bead down his neck. "Look at you right now. STRIKE commander, right? But hey, you got an upgrade. Now you're STRIKE's whore rather than being the Winter Soldier's whore."

"Go to hell!" Brock hissed. Struggling with only one leg was useless. "Not my fault you can't knock!"

"You shoulda seen what the public said." Rollins kissed behind his ear and dropped Brock down before pushing him on the bed. Brock shuddered. So far, he'd always been on the ground when this happened or maybe pushed against the wall. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was Winter. Not Rollins. Anyone but Rollins because the man had a monster dick and he wasn't anywhere ready for this. Rollins pressed Brock down and gripped his throat. "What they wanted to do to you. And hey, you're still alive on the tax payer's dime. I might as well give 'em what they want."

Brock gave him as much of a flat look as he could. "There's no way to hide that this is rape and there are people who take that shit down now. Just like your little video."

"Who said this was going on YouTube?" Rollins straddled Brock and stroked up and down with his dagger. He'd stolen it from bootleggers ages ago and to save Rollins' sorry ass, Brock had called a _friend_ of his and mailed a brand new knife to an Amazon locker three miles away. Brock had hated that knife before and he _really_ hated it now. It always smelled like whiskey and blood. Rollins traced it over Brock's scars and dug the tip in at a few places, making Brock yell and jump up. He struggled as best he could, but that was only making Rollins harder. He swallowed. This was going to be bad. Rollins only brought the damn knife out when he was really pissed. Brock had seen that knife go into too many people to not know what it was used for.

"Seeing as that's where you posted your last little bit of revenge porn..."

Rollins growled and flipped Brock over. The other man tensed up before forcing himself to relax. Maybe if he acted like dead meat, Rollins would stop. He lowered his head on the mattress and tried to think about being anywhere but here. Singing 'Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall' with Winter, just to be a shit? Good. Being in the present? Bad. See? It was as easy as that. Brock gripped the sheet with both hands and took a deep breath. He could vaguely hear Rollins fumbling around with something and a few minutes later, coldness dripped down his ass. Brock tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. _Thank fucking God_. He'd been fucked dry way too many times recently.

Survival. That was what this was about. Wait until they got stupid and lazy and he'd get Winter. Winter always recognized him, no matter how recently he'd been wiped. Survive until he could get his revenge. Kill Westfhal for screwing up his healing process with the acid, all of STRIKE for the fucking, and punch Captain America in the face. Yeah, Mister Truth, Justice, and the American Way was pretty blind when it came to people being drugged and screwed with under his watch. Getting off the drugs might just have been the most painful thing he felt down here. Brock thought he felt Rumlow moving in him, but he just lay there. The man was cursing, smacking him upside the head, but he couldn't make Brock move.

Slapping his balls got a grunt of pain. Pressing his face into the pillow made him squirm and Brock almost passed out. It was a pity that Rollins pulled his hand back before Brock could pass out. Rollins grunted something after a minute and pulled out. Right before Brock felt a warm wetness over his back. Brock closed his eyes and tried not to think about how infected everything was going to get back there. Rollins grabbed his head again and jerked it back. That was okay. The funny thing about spacing out was that Brock really didn't care what was being done to him or not. It seemed to infuriate Rollins, though, and the man gashed his cheek with the dagger.

"Do I need to get the Winter Soldier?!" Rollins snapped. "You opened your legs for him, but not for me!"

Well, maybe Winter wasn't a mass murdering psychopath who nearly flunked his last eval. It was just a thought.

Rollins shrieked and that was when Brock knew he'd said those words out loud instead of in his head. Whoops. One of these days (sooner rather than later) that mouth of his was going to get him killed. Rollins said something that was so pissed off and high pitched that Brock couldn't catch it. The next thing he knew, Rollins had slung him off the bed. Brock lay on the carpet, shivering, slowly coming back to his senses.

"I'm going to enjoy this!" Rollins snarled. "STRIKE Beta is coming back in five minutes. I'm gonna enjoy hearing you scream!"

Brock just lowered his head back on the carpet. It was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

Brock did his best to not freak when all ten STRIKE members filed in. Rollins still had him on that carpet and they circled him like they were some sort of predator animal and he was their hapless prey. It _sucked_. They could do whatever they wanted with him, short of killing him or tearing him so badly that he couldn't service the higher ups. They might fuck him and torture him, but they couldn't kill him. Fucking him with a stun baton was a favorite threat. The only stupid enough to actually try it was Westfhal and maybe that would get him killed instead of letting him screw up other missions and get good men killed. Brock could deal with the agony if he got to see Westfhal get shot.

If there was one person Brock hated more than anyone else, it was Westfhal.

Jacobson grabbed him up and struck Brock across the face. The big man muttered something in German, striking him again and again. Brock just took it. His eyes fluttered some, but that was all the response Jacobson got. And what did you know, that just made the man that much more angry. Jacobson snarled at Brock. He threw the man down and forced him over, striking him across the shoulders and head. Brock shuddered some, but otherwise, that was it. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the brutal fucking that was about to happen. He didn't think much of it, knowing that Jacobson was keyed up from a mission and wild with the drugs in his system.

Brock had gotten that once, too. Though he'd been on the bottom and he'd used fucking _lube_. Why was it so fucking hard to get these assholes to use a little lube? Or even spit? Yeah, Brock liked getting fucked and could take cock like a champ (if you asked Rollins and now Brock needed a drink), but he needed some fucking lube or at least some spit. If he couldn't get lube, he would happily take spit or someone going to town on his ass. If someone did _that_, he might even make a few sounds for them. What could he say? He was a man and he liked what he liked. They could do whatever it was that they wanted to do with him. Brock reserved the right to check out for a few hours and come back when he wasn't bleeding.

Something pierced his dick and he screamed. Brock jolted away. He was lying on his back and pain jabbed through his entire body. The man jerked some, but the man holding his throat tightened his hands. Allistaire growled at him, his brown eyes like dark pits. Brock shook as much as he can. He almost bucked his hips, but the pain in his cock pressed down deeper. Brock let out a strangled scream. He could feel blood and lube trickling down his leg and the carpet digging into his back. Some part of him thought that Rollins would kill him for getting blood everywhere. That was his own damn fault, though. Brock twisted the best he could and gasped, the white hot pain going deeper and deeper.

Someone jerked his head back, a dark grin on his face. Brock didn't know this one, but he smelled like blood and gunpowder. Going by the smell and the tent in his pants, this one wasn't going to be easy on him. Brock couldn't see what they were doing to his dick, but it _hurt_ and he was trying not to scream. Some of these guys were his old teammates. He wasn't going to give them the benefit of hearing him scream! Brock jerked back, but something tore. He opened his mouth and screamed, only for the guy's dick to be shoved right in. Brock gagged around him. He clawed at the man's legs, but his nails just caught on the fabric. The man slapped him across the face and ignored him as he thrust in, sharp and hard.

Brock thought he was going to pass out. He tries to throw his head back, but someone tugged on his balls and he froze. Castration probably wasn't out of the question. If they could cut off his leg, they could cut off his balls. Brock just hoped they didn't. He wasn't the one who stuck his dick in unwilling prisoners. If anyone deserved the snip, it was _them_. Someone kept on tugging and Brock screamed as best he could. He felt like he was pain. Throbbing, burning pain that never went away and there was nothing he could do about it. Brock twisted his body some. He gasped and cried out, but no one listened to him. All they did was tug on him more. Someone drew a thin chain across his belly, just as the other soldier got done.

Brock coughed and gasped. "What are you doing?!"

"Nothing of your concern," the man drawled. He gave Brock a grin and the other man shuddered some. This couldn't be good. His dick was burning and there was nothing he could do about it. The man patted Brock's cheek. "No need to worry your pretty little head."

"Fuck you!" Brock arched his back and hissed, clawing at the man. He just laughed and dragged Brock's wrists up.

"If you want that," he drawled. "Seeing as you can't stop begging for our cocks." He smirked and pushed the others off, letting Brock see just what they had done to the body. He was bleeding from several holes in his dick and more than one chain went from what looked like a Prince Albert to the piercing in his balls. Brock thought he was going to pass out.

"What did you do?" he rasped. He was too upset to check out and even if he did, he had to come out of his head to take a piss.

"Given you a reason to join us." The man pressed a biting kiss to Brock, nipping at him when the other man refused to open his mouth. "My name is Schultz. You'll be screaming it later on, so try to remember."

Oh, Brock would remember. He'd remember... and then he'd kill Schultz. He'd kill them _all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to see something where Brock gets double timed by both Winter and another Winter Soldier (the not so nice Luka), let me know. That one's just a one-shot and it's basically porn.
> 
> Leave me a comment if you want it!


	5. Chapter 5

The doctors said that Brock had to have a bathroom break three times a day or he was going to die from a ruptured bladder. What Brock had stuck in his dick was essentially, if you asked him, a sound that no one had bothered to check the size of or even if he had enough lube. And then there was the mattered of the delicate silver chain that connected the new cage. Brock was effectively hobbled now. He couldn't stand up to walk, so he had to crawl. Some bright spark thought it was a great idea to put a prong collar on his neck and walk him like a dog. As long as his abused ass was getting a rest, though, Brock was alright with it. A little food would be nice, though. He was starting to feel like he was going to die from hunger.

Brock lay on the concrete floor, shivering some. His skin draped over his ribs now and his new metabolism screamed at him to get something to eat. Brock couldn't, though. He felt like he could barely stand, much less fight through STRIKE to get a few crumbs of food. He didn't remember the last time that he'd gotten to eat. They were starting to give him a few bottles of water a day, and that was great, but that meant he had to piss and he couldn't take the sound out on his own. Someone _else_ had to do it for him. The humiliation burned and he felt a little bit of his pride crumble every time he had to crawl to a bucket. They wouldn't even let him stand up like a normal human being.

Someone whined and pawed at the metal bars. Brock weakly looked up. He swallowed some, recognizing the haunted dark blue eyes that stared at him. They left the cell door open now. His chain was clipped to the metal bars, so he couldn't go very far. And if he tried to stand, he risked ripping open his balls. Brock wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He hoped that Winter understood, because he wasn't getting up to see him right now. After a few seconds, Winter curled up beside him and pressed something into his hands. There was a spark of mischief in his eyes, like he was sharing a joke with Brock. Brock ripped open the energy bar and shoved it in his mouth, licking his fingers to make sure he got every crumb off.

Winter brushed a kiss over his dry lips, concern in his eyes. "Missed you. New handler doesn't like me. Makes me suck his cock all the time and slaps me if I do something bad."

"I'll add him to my list to kill," Brock mumbled. Winter hummed and pressed close to him. He seemed to be concerned and, for once, someone was touching Brock with gentle hands instead of trying to hit him. Brock smiled just a little bit. He sighed some and stroked Winter's hair with shaky hands. Winter loved that. Winter loved being touched, but he really liked getting his hair petted. Brock frowned some when his hand came away greasy. "You need a bath. You _smell_."

"Handler Russo doesn't think I need one." Winter nuzzled Brock. Sadly, Winter smelled like piss and blood, which meant that he'd been fighting. Great. The last thing Brock wanted to do was stink more than he already did. Not only was he not a very sexually active person, he also liked to stay clean. Brock was known for taking wet wipe baths in the field.. and then forcing Winter to take one as well. Winter made a face and shook his head. It was as if he knew what Brock was thinking and he did _not_ want to deal with it. "No. Nope. Not gonna do it."

"Relax," Brock drawled. He snatched the other energy bar and gulped that one down, too. Winter gave him a look. Brock wondered if he'd just stolen Winter's lunch. As much as he loved Winter, he couldn't bring himself to care right about now. "If I had a box of Wet Ones, I'd be using them on_ me_, not you. Though I will be asking Rollins to get you in the shower. Much as I hate the man, I also hate your smell."

Winter growled at him and pushed Brock a little. "I smell fine."

"You smell like shit and blood," Brock sighed. He picked himself up as best he could and let Winter hold him. The pure contact felt like bliss and he almost closed his eyes. It just felt _good_. Knowing that he was getting touched by someone that didn't intent to fuck him raw was something that Brock hadn't ever considered before. Now that he was, though? Well, he was going to kill the rest of STRIKE and then he was going to fuck off with Winter. They might wind up cuddling most of the time, but that was okay. He felt like he deserved a few good things after all of this hell he was going through. Brock sighed and pushed Winter off when the smell got too much. "Winter, I love you, but you smell like a cesspit."

Brock wanted to have something nice for once. He didn't have to have Winter smelling like roses, but he needed something better than smelling like he'd been rolling around a battlefield. Knowing how things got, it was very possible that Winter had done just that. Brock sighed some and leaned against the cold wall. The prong collar dug into his throat and he tried to pull it away from him. Winter whined. He stroked over Brock's neck with gentle fingers and brushed a kiss over Brock's cheek. Brock pushed him away and swallowed. He didn't want that right now. He didn't think he could take any of this right now. Winter usually initiated, but Brock was exercising his power of the veto.

"Not now," Brock whispered. He shook his head and turned away. He heard Winter grumble, but Winter sighed and curled up close to him. Brock curled right up beside him and tried to ignore the jeers. Yeah, he was every nasty thing they said he was. But what were they going to do about it? He wasn't one to stick his dick in a prisoner.

That was them.

Brock swallowed some and closed his eyes. He needed to rest - he got the feeling it was going to get a hell of a lot worse.


	6. Chapter 6

Brock tried to sleep. Really, he did. But it was pretty damn hard when Winter kept trying to "encourage" him. Winter could get rough. There were times when Brock _wanted_ it rough. There were times when he just wanted to feel and not be himself for a long, long time. There were also times, though, when his stomach was rolling from too much food and he had to piss. But, of course, no one was going to move the Winter Soldier just for a prisoner. And that meant that Winter could pretty much do what he wanted, short of actually fucking Brock. Taking Winter required about four fingers, half a bottle of lube, and about forty five minutes. Maybe thirty, if Winter didn't want to wait.

As far as Winter was concerned, standing orders were still standing. Pierce had said that if Winter felt the need, he could have Brock. Winter felt the need far more than Brock was actually comfortable with and there were plenty of times when Brock lay back and thought of England, figuratively. He had memorized every regulation and catalogue in the building. If Barton knew _why_ Brock memorized those things, he probably wouldn't have laughed so hard. As it was, though, Winter usually let him get loose enough that he wouldn't tear. It might not be the most pleasant fuck (the first time it had happened, Brock had been shoved against the wall and fucked dry), but it wasn't nearly as bad as it was right now.

Winter growled into his ear and rolled his hips, trying to get Brock in the mood. He didn't seem to understand that Brock was in agony, not just from his bladder, but also his leg. Winter didn't like blowjobs of handjobs. Brock had learned that the hard way back in Bosnia about ten years ago. Winter rubbed himself against Brock's ass and growled something in Russian that was probably very sexy. Brock tried to shove him off. Winter growled more and pinned his arms. His eyes were borderline feral at this point and he growled in Russian again. This time, Brock figured it was a command, but damn him, he wasn't in the mood! Brock yelled and pushed Winter in the chest.

"Knock it off!" he snapped. "Can't you see I feel like shit?!"

Winter's response? Pin his legs and rut against his back.

Brock swore under his breath and rolled. "Yasha. _Stop_. Please!" Usually, using "Yasha" got Winter to stop. It didn't look like that was about to work right now. Winter growled low and nipped his shoulder, right before dropping his head to Brock's abuse nipple. He cried out, trying to push Winter away, but he just wasn't strong enough. Brock gasped in pain. "Yasha! _Yasha_! Stop! Please!" But of course, no one bothered to stop. Brock heard himself make a choked, ugly sob as Winter kept going. He dropped his head down lower and started kissing places that once felt good. A memory - one of a plush bed and lazy sex - flashed in front of him, right as Winter licked around the base of the piercing.

He could hear the other agents dragging someone else through the halls, but he didn't care. Brock could only hear himself sobbing as Winter kept on. He twisted himself away, but the collar caught and his leg brushed against the concrete. Brock tried not to scream. He twisted his head and bucked up, trying to keep calm. Winter still didn't stop and eventually he brushed his head over Brock's abused ass. Brock lay back and tried to send his mind away, but it just wouldn't happen. The worst part was that this felt _good_. His body remembered Winter and knew that Winter liked to give him pleasure after the first (usually painful) bout was over. Winter knew all of his spots, too, and that wasn't helping anything.

"Bucky?"

Brock twisted as best he could and weakly kicked at Winter. He tried to ignore the other man, staring at him with a mixture of horror and fascination. If Brock hadn't been about to get fucked by the Fist of HYDRA, he would have said something sarcastic. Instead, all he could do was gasp in pain. Winter kept on lapping, pressing his fingers into places that weren't ready to be touched. And damn it, it felt _good_. If his dick hadn't been abused, Brock knew he would be hard right now. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore Captain Fucking America, getting a goddam good look at what was about to happen.

"Winter!" Brock screamed when Winter dropped his pants. "Winter! No!" He could hear Cap yelling, but all he could see was that dick. "Winter!_ You're hurting me_!" Usually, that made Winter stop. Today, however, wasn't usually. Winter forced himself in and ignored Brock screaming. He pinned the man to the floor and rolled his hips. To add the cherry on top, he even kissed Brock, just like they used too. Brock turned his head and screamed. "Get him off me!"

_I'll give you anything you want, just get him off me!_

"Bucky!" Captain Sanctimonious rattled the bars and reached through, but Winter looked up and snarled. 

"Who the hell's Bucky?" To prove his point, Winter made Brock scream again. "He's _mine_. Mine!"

Brock gasped and lay back. "Yeah! I'm yours, just get off!" He was willing to do or say whatever it took, but it felt like Winter was going to rip his guts out of him. He knew from experience that Winter wouldn't stop until he came and right now, he was wild. Something, between the pain and his own sobbing, clicked. Brock managed to focus. Someone, probably his new handler, had made Winter crazy and turned him loose. "Winter, _please_. You're hurting me!"

Winter pulled out and his dick was streaked with blood and who knew what. He made a point of crouching beside Steve and jerking himself off. Brock managed to close his eyes, right before Winter came all over Brock's face and hair. He _growled_ at Cap, his eyes dark. Something in him was challenging the blonde and Brock really didn't want to be fought over like a piece of meat.

The world seemed to get dizzy around him and Brock decided that it was a good time for him to pass out.


	7. Chapter 7

Brock came too maybe a few hours later. His chest and throat felt like he was about to get sick again and the wet rattle was starting to get even worse. Brock moaned under his breath and rolled over as best he could. He didn't care that Captain Sanctimonious could see everything that had happened to him. All Brock wanted to do was get some _rest_. They never turned off the damn lights down here. Brock tended to be one of those people who needed dark and quiet to rest, unless he was coming down from a good dose of pilot's salt. He had Winter to blame for that one. Brock knew good and well what Pervitin was and why he didn't need to keep popping those pills, but damn him, sometimes he _needed_ the high.

If he was coming down from those enhancements, he needed the high so he didn't feel like his bones were fracturing and rebuilding as he lead the missions.

Someone rolled him over and swore under his breath. Brock just lay there. Yeah, Rogers was just as much as a prisoner as he was. However, he didn't want to get beaten or fucked for trying to fight back. Rogers drew him up to a sitting position, which felt _really_ good on his sore ass. The blonde seemed to be concerned. That was nice, but Brock didn't want someone else touching his face and messing with all the scarring. He was healing that, dammit! He didn't need someone else touching it and making the scars hurt that much more. He growled under his breath and waited until Rogers put his fingers too near his mouth and then Brock _bit_. He tore through the skin and the salty tang of blood filled his mouth.

Rogers bellowed and slapped him across the face. Brock was snapped back as far as the chain would allow. He clawed at the collar and started gasping. Prongs dug into his tender skin, choking him and making him flail around. Brock managed to yank the collar loose. He slumped over, panting some, before looking up to glare at the man. He gritted his teeth. Brock knew he was a pitiful sight. He was scrawny. His face was half scar tissue and half flesh. He only had one leg and yeah, there was blood and semen pooling under his body. At least Winter had left, so Brock didn't have to deal with the fucking anymore. He hated how relieved he was, at how much he hated Winter at that moment.

"What have they done to you?" Rogers asked. He slumped down some and damn him, there was concern in those blue eyes. Brock turned his head away as best he could. He didn't need Rogers' comfort. What he needed was a leg and a sniper rifle. _Damn Rollins_! Brock tried to flex his crippled hand and offered Rogers a rueful smile. Rogers tried to get closer, but Brock pushed himself back as best he could. Rogers didn't seem to take the hint. "Rumlow? You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"No. Just lay under a helicarrier for a few hours and had hot fuel oil drip on me for a few hours," Brock snapped. "After that healed up, they chopped off my leg and started raping me."

Rogers blanched. He looked even lighter then he usually did and Brock had to stop the words in the Old Language come slipping out. He shook his head ruefully. Rogers held out his hand like he was talking with a frightened dog. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I... I'm not-"

"Not like the Winter Soldier?" Brock snapped. "Yeah. He was getting me under your watch. You wanna piece of my ass, too? Might have to deal with bloody seconds, but you probably like that shit." He pulled himself up as best he could. He might have been scrawny and he might only have one leg, but that didn't mean he was going to take shit lying down. Sitwell liked to piss on his face. Brock might tolerate that from him, but he was willing to at least scratch Rogers up a little bit. He bristled as best he could and narrowed his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for any of this crap. He might take the Winter Soldier's dick if he had too (and if he wanted too), but he wasn't taking Steve Fucking_ Rogers_ up the ass.

"That's not Bucky!"

"I hate to say it, but your "Bucky" is dead," Brock snarled. He wrapped his leg up to his chest as best as he could, wincing when that jarred both his bladder and the area of pain that was his ass. "He died in the forties, Freezer Pop."

"Freezer Pop." Rogers fixed Brock with a long look. "Is that what you called me behind my back?"

"Not all of it." Brock leaned back against the cinder blocks. What moron thought it was a good idea to leave these things unfinished? He was going to whip the contractor and leave _him_ in here for a few hours. He also knew what Rogers was trying to do. He was trying to make random talk to take Brock's mind off the pain. Brock appreciated the help. He looked up some and smirked. "Captain Sanctimonious is a favorite one. Captain Spangles, America's Favorite Ass, Freezer Burn, stuff like that." He shrugged. "It's better than fuck toy and that's me."

"I am _not_ sanctimonious," Rogers muttered. He crossed his arms and gave Brock a dirty look. Brock knew he was changing the subject, but right now he appreciated it. He leaned his head against the bars, knowing that his previously very well kept head of hair was now full of grease, dried blood, and probably lice or fleas. Rogers took a second before he started scratching in the fetid mass. Brock relaxed back against the bars and made a happy sound. All he needed now was a piss break and he might call this a good day. He wasn't starving. His head wasn't itching as bad. Winter wasn't _that_ badly fried. Captain Asshole was here and wherever he was, the Avengers weren't that far behind the day.

Not nearly as good as eating a bloody piece of steak, but it was better than getting fucked raw by two STRIKE teams. All in all, it was a good day.

"And I don't have one leg," Brock shot back. He groaned some when he moved wrong and swore some. He ignored the concerned look. "Something with my spine. I got the serum - I'll be fine." Actually, he didn't think he would be. Unlike the other wounds, that one hadn't been healing. He dropped his head some. Maybe they would kill him once he broke his spine. Or, rather, they broke his spine by tying him into some weird stress position.

Rogers swallowed some. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Hell's full." Brock gestured around. "Though this does look like Satan's Asshole, now that you think about it."

Rogers leaned his head back and laughed. Despite the fact that he sprayed drops of blood as he did so, it was still the best sound that Brock had heard in months, so fuck him, he laughed and enjoyed it too.


	8. Chapter 8

Brock felt like shit, but what else was new? He doubled over and started to cough, pounding on his chest as best he could. He probably had walking pneumonia. Now, that might not kill him, but it would make his life that much worse. What he needed was a round of antibiotics. Hell, even amoxicillin that you bought at the feed store would work, Brock had done that before. Growing up, he'd never been able to go to the doc in the box like everyone else. He just made do with what he had. His mother knew enough about caring for animals and ran on the basic assumption that human and cow bodies pretty much ran the same way. When he broke his arm falling out of the tree, his mother set it and dosed him with several kinds of livestock painkillers.

Poverty sucked. Brock had grown up in an old house with no running water and no electricity. You could bet that he was willing to sign up the second the Marines came knocking. He might have been wiry, but he worked twice as hard as all the rest did. If that meant that he had to suck dick to get there, he was willing to suck dick. Pierce took him up on the offer and Fury didn't. Maybe that was why he went HYDRA instead of staying with SHIELD. It wasn't that he was that much of a whore, it was that he was willing to do whatever it took to move up the ladder. Brock was no stranger to pain. He'd grown up rough, had fallen in one end of the thresher and out the other, but what this was doing was a whole 'nother level of pain.

"I fell in a thresher once," Brock slowly said. "One of those old steam driven ones." He leaned back on the bars, trying not to press close to the other man. But then, what did he care? He was naked. Rogers had seen the Winter Soldier fuck him. He could see all the hand shaped bruises and yeah, there was bloody semen trickling down his legs. Brock twisted around some and glanced over to Rogers. "You ever do something like that?"

"You fell in a thresher?" Rogers asked. He shook his head some and rubbed his face. "What. The. Hell?"

"We used to thresh wheat the old fashioned way," Brock explained. He rubbed his chest and coughed again. The horrible, wet cough was starting to hurt his chest and this time, he coughed up a mouthful of mucus. "We would cut it, dry it, and toss the sheaf into a tractor engine powered thresher. Course, that was a good way to get yourself killed - I knew a kid who died that way." He shook his head some. He hadn't thought of Gavin Freedman in a long time, but now he could feel the pain starting to stab through. Gavin had been just as poor as Brock, but he didn't have the vague protection of being Cotaco and having a community. As much as he loved the place where he was born, they could do a little work on the race relations.

"I grew up drinking swill milk," Roger replied. "Bucky's allergic to the stuff - I guess that's why I was always so small before." He frowned some and picked himself up. Smooth fingers pressed on the prong collar and his eyes darkened. "You're not a Rottweiler, though... You're one of the best snipers I've ever known. I wouldn't go back into that hellhole for just anyone."

Brock swallowed. "I wish you hadn't." His hand brushed over scars carved on his right leg. "I really, _really_ wish you would have left me there. You have no idea what you got me into."

"What do you mean?" Rogers pressed closer and Brock couldn't stop himself. He was tired, he was hurting, and he wanted to make someone _else_ hurt for once. Brock was tired of being the fuck toy. He was tired of being the STRIKE cumdump. Rogers looked like he really didn't understand.

"Pierce fucked me. Both himself and with a rifle mounted light," Brock snapped. He closed his eyes and tried to shove down the waves of fear and revulsion that threatened to swallow him. Brock felt himself shiver. He coughed some and his hands curled into fists. He could _feel_ the man talking to him, his words dripping with honey as he hurt Brock over and over. He was fit for nothing but this, Pierce said. All he was made for was taking dick from his betters and he'd better get used to it. The second he got too old to keep shooting (and he wasn't getting younger. Even with the serum, his eyes were starting to go), he was going to be regulated down to Winter Soldier Toy.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rogers whispered. "I was... I was there! On the other side of the door!"

"That's the first thing you learn not to do," Brock snapped. He picked himself up as best he could. He didn't want to be touched right now. Brock might be cold, but right now his skin was crawling. He tossed his head back and laughed bitterly. He'd taken enough cock that he could give the best whores an education. But it wasn't STRIKE that hurt the worst. It was that time in Pierce's office, when he was bleeding and injured. All he'd had to do was cry out and Captain fucking America would have come through the walls. But no, he had to be a fucking _coward_. He had to keep his mouth shut and let Pierce fuck him over the table when he talked to the President.

He might hate the President (Voldemort Cheetos, anyone?), but he was pretty sure that guy would call the Secret Service down on Pierce's head. Then again, the guy might be like Senator Moore and join in after walking in on Pierce _enjoying_ Brock's body.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rogers asked. He shook his head some and swallowed. "I... I would have done anything."

"Lemme guess - you're in lust," Brock snapped. He held his arms around his body and swallowed. Yeah, he knew why they were here. He figured that HYDRA had drugged Rogers so whatever he was thinking would come boiling right out. "You want a piece of this ass? Just get in line. Make sure to ask nicely, because I'm pretty sure they'll let you have it!"

"That's not what I meant!" Rogers yelped.

Brock rolled over and flipped Rogers the bird. "Fuck off, Spangles." Damn, but that felt good. Even if he was going to regret it later.


	9. Chapter 9

Brock ignored Rogers. Sex and violence had always been a little messed up for him and the last thing he wanted to do was let Rogers in on that little secret. He had been ordered to get in Rogers' pants as a sort of honeypot mission, but that one had been overruled when Winter started going nuts. Pierce wasn't going to leave his precious Asset out in the cold. That meant that his ass belonged to the Winter Soldier and his mouth belonged to Pierce. Brock wondered just how much of his body belonged to _himself_. He lived in the thing. He dealt with all the broken bones and the bloody tearing. Brock_ hated_ it. There were days when he wished he could take a knife and carve everything up, giving everyone a chunk of his bloody flesh.

Rogers shifted beside him. At least he could piss in a bucket without help. Sitwell made Brock suck his cock before the wand came out and he was allowed to take a piss. Brock swallowed the shame and decided to focus on how much his jaw hurt. He was getting a little bit too old for this and even with the serum, his bones screamed at him for lying on the concrete all the time. Brock was pretty sure he was starting to get sores. His skin was covered in half healed scratches and scars, some decades old. Brock lay where he was and just stared at the wall. He kept his back to Rogers. He didn't think he could face the man after that little confession. And besides that, who the hell would love _him_?

He was an old, washed up whore. He got fucked by the Fist of HYDRA on the regular and now he was taking STRIKE up the ass. Whoop-de-doo, when could he check out of this life forever?

Rogers cleared his throat as several men marched down the corridors. Brock ignored them completely. Who the hell knew what they were going to do to him and who the hell _cared_? They couldn't always experiment on Winter, so when they needed something to test on, they picked him. Brock figured that he deserved it. He'd turned a blind eye to the prisoners brought up here and the ones who had died in this very cell. Someone had died in the dark spot over in the corner. Brock had dragged the body down to the furnace. He tried not to think about it too much. Brock swallowed some and cursed his dry throat. He felt like utter shit and now he wanted some of that food he could smell wafting down the hall.

Collier stopped in front of the cell and left the plate of steaming food right where Brock could _smell_ it, but couldn't quite get it. He didn't bother moving, knowing that Collier would probably take that as an excuse to start beating on him or even fuck him. He could tolerate Rogers watching the Winter Soldier fuck him. What he _couldn't_ tolerate was Rogers watching him get fucked by members of his own team. Brock figured that he might as well seize the bull by the horns for once. He just lay there and tried to ignore all of the jeering. He was drooling from all the smells and he knew that Rogers was getting a few scraps of food scraped on his tin plate, stamped with the fucking Nazi eagle.

Yeah, like Captain _America_ was going to eat out of that. Rogers wasn't Captain HYDRA yet.

Rogers snarled and flung the plate and food away. He glared at Collier and the tension ratcheted up a few notches. Brock picked himself up and watched. Rogers paced the cell like a caged tiger. "How do I know you didn't poison that?" Rogers snarled. Brock rolled his eyes. They weren't going to kill Rogers. Him, maybe. But not Rogers. Rogers snarled and grabbed the bars of the cell. "How do I trust you?"

"By being a good little puppy," Collier sneered. He picked up the filthy food and whistled. Brock ignored him, preferring to watch the fireworks. Collier whistled again. "C'mere, bitch. You wanna get to eat today?" Collier dropped the gritty, filthy food back in the plate and scooted it just close enough to Brock. Brock's belly growled. The protein bars weren't enough and his belly was starting to chew on his ribs. Brock nodded some. Collier smirked. "Then why don't you crawl over here and show Cap just how it's done."

Brock swallowed his pride and did just that. He belly crawled to the bars and knelt down. He let Collier touch the scars on his shoulders, the one Collier had carved into his skin himself. The ones that read HYDRA'S WHORE. Brock felt his belly roll, but he bowed his head and gulped down gritty, shitty Chinese takeout. His belly rolled and he knew he would regret it later, but he needed to eat. He licked up the tin and stayed where he was. Collier smirked. He grabbed Brock's hair and yanked him as far as the chain would allow. For that indignity, he was allowed to gulp down a bottle of water. One of the other agents, maybe Hilliard, smirked and pulled down his pants. Brock managed to close his eyes before the urine splashed all down his face and chest.

Rogers _roared_. He threw himself against the cell and even dented the steel some. Brock only dared to look up once he was pretty sure that Hilliard was done. The last thing he wanted to do was get piss in his eyes. Rogers was snarling words that Brock didn't know Captain Spangles knew and damn him, but he fell on his ass and started laughing. Because fuck him, watching_ Captain America_ getting pissed off on his behalf was just funny! If Winter was here, Brock could maybe trigger him to do something (if they hadn't changed the codes yet. Brock didn't know how deep they could go without killing him) and watch the resulting blood bath. Now that was a plan.

Not as good a plan as getting an AR-15 and napalm, but it was still a plan.

Brock fell on his back and deftly pulled the chain away from prying hands. What did he know? Maybe he could sweet talk his way out of this one. Maybe Rogers _did_ like something more about him than his ass. Brock shook his head as he plotted out his next course of action. He was going to charm his way into being Roger's bitch boy and he was going to use Captain Freezer Burn to get out of here.


	10. Chapter 10

So the bad thing was that Brock had no idea how to make good dirty talk. Everything that had been whispered in his ear had been about how tight his ass was or how he was taking it like a good whore. That wasn't what you needed when you were trying to get into the pants of Captain Truth, Justice, and the American Way. That also meant that Brock was going to have to watch his mouth. Rogers didn't like the cursing and if there was one thing Brock was good at, it was the cursing. He tried not to lean his head back and curse as he thought of it. They had him on a table, doing something to his stump, but at least this time they had him sedated. Brock could feel them tugging on his muscles, but he couldn't actually feel the pain.

Not feeling pain was good. They'd even fed Brock and set up a catheter, so if he needed to piss, a needle and tube carried it all away. Apparently, he was going to be there for awhile. Brock just hoped that the sedative would keep that long. The last thing he wanted to do was start screaming as soon as he could feel the scalpels. Every so often, he could hear Doctor Reinhardt or whoever he was start cursing about the hack job on Brock's leg. Well, Brock hated to say it, but they hadn't done anything but tie it off so he didn't die of shock, sepsis, or blood loss. They had chopped off his leg with a machete, not a bone saw like they'd need to use if they wanted a clean cut.

If Brock's tongue didn't feel like lead, he would feel like telling them that. Brock just lay there, though, and let the doctors do whatever they wanted to do. He could breathe, at least. The man coughed softly when he could feel his lungs start to get strained. He didn't know why they were bothering to patch him up. He was just the fuck toy. That was all he was at this point and Brock was having a bad time believing that Rogers was going to want something with one leg. He also wasn't known as the "whore of HYDRA" for nothing. He wasn't going to be nice and pure for the man, but he hoped that was okay by him. Rogers was also one to pick up strays, so there was that.

Winter could deal with having to share. Brock might be able to get him off now, which would be freaking_ nice_.

One of the doctors ruffled up his hair. Brock weakly tried to snap at him, but the man only slapped him and went to working on the other things. "I liked him better with short hair," the man drawled. He sat down and wiped a bloody hand across his face. "I have no idea how you did it, but you're the first man I almost saw die of blood loss and sepsis. Don't you know how to care for your injuries?"

Brock slurred something about being in a cage, dammit, and not having a fucking medical kit or Sam fucking Wilson to bitch at him for running too long and taking too much energy shots. Brock had used a few injections until his heart almost stopped. He might not have wanted to sleep, but he didn't want to die of a fucking heart attack. Brock lay back and let the man touch him as much as he wanted. The man squeezed Brock's nipple and was saying something, but Brock was too far out of it to say anything. He just took it. If he tried to fight back, he might wind up getting fucked and right now people were working on his leg. He might have been crazy, but he didn't want to die on an operating table.

"He's STRIKE," Reinhardt drawled. The man was older, but there was something dark in his eyes. From what Brock knew, Reinhardt was fucked in the head for a Nazi. There was no telling what he would do right now and there was nothing Brock could do to stop it. He struggled as best he could, but his body lay there like lead. Reinhardt touched his other leg and Brock noticed a gleaming syringe. The older man laughed. "Oh, don't act like that. You just need your last injection and then we can wait until we make you just like the Asset. We'll do that with your other boyfriend, too. He's just going to take a little bit more work than you. Because unlike you, he's actually got some principles."

"Fuck you," Brock slurred. He stiffened when the needle went in and he cried out, clawing at his arms. It _burned_. It burned so much and he tried to cry out as best he could. His tongue barely obeyed him and he cried out more when the fire turned to ice. It_ hurt_. It hurt so much more than what he was used too and he wanted it just to stop. Brock twisted around, but he still couldn't move. His eyes were wild, dark eyes screaming in pain when his voice couldn't. The doctors left him alone and went back to cleaning up his leg. Brock thought they were setting his leg into some sort of fitting. Maybe he'd have a leg like Winter. Or maybe they were just hurting him to do it.

Brock wasn't sure when he passed out, but he was dragged back to the cell and thrown against the concrete. The new metal fitting sparked against the concrete and Brock just lay there. He decided not to mention that the wand was out and he dragged himself to the bucket. He could see Rogers in the corner and though he felt like shit, he needed to try and make this crazy plan of his work. He didn't want to wind up as another Winter Soldier. He was pretty sure that Roger wouldn't take well to that, but oh well. Unless Rogers could magically fuck them out of here, they were both going to wind up as brainwashed murder bot in a freezer. Yeah, this wasn't going to go very well.

He needed to start this. Brock raised his head and swallowed some. "Hey, big guy."

"Hey." Rogers didn't flinch when Brock curled over near him. Instead, he reached through the bars and started scratching his head. That felt good. Rogers swallowed some. "I saw him. I... I saw Bucky."

"Good for you," Brock mumbled. He looked up some and swallowed. Well, shit. "He remember you?"

"Not yet," Rogers softly said. "But he knew you. He seemed to think that I would hurt you. I don't think he likes me very much." Rogers gave him a tired look and his eyes went down to his leg. "Did they knock you out?"

"Sedated," Brock mumbled. He lolled his head back and mumbled something. "I think I'm gonna pass out now. Wake me never, will ya?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click the links. You will NOT be disappointed.

Okay, so maybe biting Sitwell hadn't been Brock's best idea.

In his defense, he was tired, his ass hurt, and he was trying to get with Captain America, so maybe he didn't need to be fucking random HYDRA agents. He had the feeling that Cap wouldn't exactly like seeing that. He might seem to worry more about Brock_ enjoying_ himself (and Brock didn't know why), but Brock could tell that he wasn't the best fan of Brock having sex in front of hm. Well, there was something to be said for that. Sitwell had been just a little too rough and had hurt the infected spots in his mouth. So Brock bit down and made Sitwell scream. He was not in the mood for anything like that and Sitwell could not understand no meant no. That meant that Brock was now wearing a shock collar and a muzzle.

Good times, good times.

Sitwell grabbed his hair and dragged Brock's head back. "Guess you aren't so cocky now, aren't you?"

Brock smirked behind the muzzle. "The muzzle works both ways," he drawled. He rested back as best he could, enjoying the fact that he was on a couch instead of the concrete. He felt pretty bad right now. His mouth was still hurting him and he coughed blood at times. Yeah, his gums were bleeding. Yeah, Wilson was going to bitch at him until he got his mouth cleaned up. He needed to brush his teeth, but he didn't have anything that he needed. Maybe his jaw would get infected and he would drop dead or something. He played with the pillows and enjoyed the pacing, angry man. "I mean, you can have my_ ass_, but I'm pretty sure that you don't like bloody seconds, amiright?"

"Shut up!" Sitwell screamed. He slapped Brock across the face and kept on pacing. Brock just grabbed his blanket and shrugged some. This was going to be fun. Sitwell wasn't going to get the courage to take his mouth again. Well, not anytime soon. His ass was a different story. He played with the thick black collar and swallowed some. It felt better than the prong collar. He would take getting shocked over getting that collar digging into his throat every second of every day. He played with the chain some, knowing that it was going to drive Sitwell mad. He also thought back to one of the songs he liked to listen to. This one was called "Dividing the Plunder" and it used to drive Rollins_ insane_.

Apparently, that one worked even better than "[Yarr](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xejq9XDO7h0)". Brock leaned back and launched back into that one. He couldn't sing and it had been quite awhile since he'd used this one. He even added the hand gestures and tapped his foot to the rhythm. Sitwell screamed even more, but Brock shoved him back and leaned back. He was going to be an asshole today because he_ could_. He might not have raped and plundered everyone that got in his way, but he could at least sing the song and drive Sitwell that much more crazy. The next one he launched into carried a reference about an early form of meth. Sitwell might not have caught it, but Brock made sure to sing the lyrics about salt and thunder a little louder than usual.

"Drive me insane! I want to feel madness! All the way to hell I'll roll!" Brock dodged the blows and snarled at Sitwell. He just wasn't taking the shit today. He didn't know what it was, but he he didn't care. He might have been skin and bones, but he was going to have this and no fucking HYDRA bitch was going to take that.

"I'm not a bitch!" Sitwell screamed.

"Did I say that out loud?" _Brock_ drawled. "Oops. You weren't supposed to hear that." He rolled over and fell to his knees. Maybe he was going crazy, but he could hear the music in head. He could almost feel it and he was going to drive Sitwell fucking_ crazy_. "C'mon, _bitch_! Take me down to hell with you!" He grabbed the man and wrestled him over. The new strength he could feel was making him crazy and he_ loved_ it. "I'm gonna make you _pay_ for what you did to me!"

By the time Rollins got there, he'd launched into "[Prepare Yourself to Fight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q6EkRaEQ2Pg)". He could tell the lines about putting an end to slavery were really pissing Rollins off, so he put more into that one. Brock thought he could see Winter there, so he put on a show. He screamed at Rollins and bashed his head into Rollins' stomach. He probably called the man a pig once or twice. Brock felt _good_ and he could see that Winter was getting hard. Well, that sucked, because Brock wasn't taking anyone off the ass tonight. He kicked Sitwell in the groin and watched as the man jumped around and screamed. Brock knew he was going to get it later, but he just didn't care.

As it turned out, ramming his fitting in Rollins really hurt the man. Brock did it again and again. Sitwell grabbed him and ripped the muzzle off. Brock twisted his head and sunk his teeth into the man's arm. Sitwell _screamed_ as Brock ripped out a chunk of flesh. He spat it out and drew himself up. Blood ran down his naked chest and he smiled like a crazy man. Winter watched him with those dead eyes of his. Brock flipped him off and lost himself to the music in his head. This one was about rum and he honestly did not care that Sitwell was clutching his arm and getting a knife. Brock held himself steady and grabbed the first weapon he could find. He slammed the lamp into Rollin's leg and rolled out from under him.

Someone grabbed and Brock bit the end of his finger off. He hit someone else and clawed as they tried to get even closer and closer. Brock just wasn't taking it tonight. He screamed at them, dared them to come closer, and didn't back down as the new leader came stalking down there. Rollins and Sitwell were nursing their bites and Brock gave him a wild eyed smile. He just did not _care_. The guy glared at him with hot green eyes and Brock spat in his direction. He thought he could hear someone cursing at him.

"Y'all _suck_," Brock drawled. He shrugged some, letting his native accent slip through. He leaned his head back and laughed. "What? You didn't have a plan for when I fucking snapped? And ya_ still_ gave me that shit?" He gave them a "duh" look. "What did ya think was gonna happen when I finally lost it? I wasn't gonna turn into the fucking Winter Soldier, ya know." He leaned his head back. "This may well be the day that I die, but at least I went out with a bang."

The man growled low and reached down. Brock took a chunk out that one and sent him back. _In a bloody battle off the coast of Carolin' he took five musket shots and the sword twenty times_. Brock rolled away from Rollins and the others. He laughed bitterly, nearly losing himself to the chaos that was in his mind. And Brock just did not care. He laughed and laughed and bit at everyone who tried to get near him.

And then he saw a very familiar head of blonde hair.

"Hey, Captain Ass." Brock shrugged some. "I might be lost in the tempest, but I ain't out of spark. You gonna fix that?"

"Please calm down," Rogers whispered. He crouched close to Brock and held up his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you. They... they aren't going to hurt you, unless you obey. Please... just calm down, okay?"

Brock looked at Rogers and shook his head. "You gonna carry me out of here?" Brock breathed. He swallowed some and pressed a chaste kiss to the man's throat. His teeth just barely grazed over the smooth skin and he resisted the urge to bite down. "My daylight is fadin' and I don't think I'm gonna get out of this one..."

"I hated your choice of music," Rogers replied. He soothed Brock's hair and retrieved the chain. "You _always_ make my life harder?"

"Yup." Brock just smiled at him. "I ever tell you that my mother was descended from the unholy union of Isabella Tomlin and Blackbeard?" He shrugged some and shook his head. "I've made it this far, but I think I've lost my luck. You ever feel like that, Rogers? Like you've been fightin' to stay sane and then ya just it go? Cause I've just fuckin' let it _go_. And it just fucking _feels _good to let it go."

Rogers looked a little concerned. "You want out of here, right?"

"Kinda." Brock propped himself up and gave Rogers a crazed look. "I don't know if I can make it, though. You're gonna have to carry me and if Wints touches my ass, I'll break his fucking arm. The _metal one_, you bastard!" He leaned his head, laughing as he knew Winter could hear him. He knew he was going crazy, but he was having a hard time caring. "They're comin' for you, right?"

"We gotta give them time," Rogers whispered. He gathered Brock into his arms and Brock didn't fight him. He gave Rollins a bloody smile and flipped him the bird. When he made a move, the new leader drew him back. Brock just leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He wasn't passing out, but he kissed Rogers. The man started, but he kissed back. Brock nipped him some, licking up the blood.

Brock could get used to this.


	12. Chapter 12

Brock curled up in Rogers' arms. The man was warm, he'd give him that, and he seemed to tolerate Brock's bony ass digging into his crotch. He didn't seem to be _interested_ in Brock, but that might be because Brock was still crusted with blood from all the fighting he'd done and all the torture. True to Rogers' word, no one had punished him for attacking Sitwell, Rollins, and the new leader. Rogers even scratched his head and let Brock kiss up his neck. Brock had taken great pleasure in marking him with kisses and nips. The marks might not have stayed, but Rogers was sensitive there when Brock started kissing at him again. _Good_. That meant he wasn't going to leave Brock for the first tight ass he found.

Rogers looked up at the sound of boots. Brock ignored him, more interested in trying to make out. He flipped a bird at whoever it was and tried to ignore the sputtering. Well, they were the ones that called him the whore of HYDRA, so they got what was coming to them. He pulled Rogers close to him and wrapped his good arm around Rogers' shoulder before getting the man to open his mouth. Brock rewarded him with a smoldering kiss. He drew Rogers' head down and nipped at his lips. He wasn't the best at kissing. Most of what he got had been from Russian soldiers and the Winter Soldier, so it wasn't like that he knew how to actually kiss worth a damn.

"Brock," Rogers muttered. He looked up.

Brock rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know the technique sucks. But I'm tryin' to learn. Gonna give you the best I can, amiright?" He smiled up at Rogersand tried to give him another good kiss. What if he wasn't doing it right? The agents who fucked him never gave him a kiss, or if they did, they rammed their mouths into his and bit, so it fucking _hurt_. This had to be good and this had to work. Brock had to make it _good_ so he could get the fuck out of here. "You like that, right? I'm doin' the right thing?"

Rogers made a strangled sound and looked up. Brock turned around, still straddling Rogers' lap. He swore under his breath when he saw the tall, African American man staring at him from the other side of the bars. HYDRA wasn't known for being equal opportunity, so he was pretty sure he knew who this was. Brock gave Rhodes as much of a jaunty wave as he could, right before he doubled over and started coughing up more blood and shit. He grimaced some, knowing that he looked like utter shit. Yeah, he felt bad. He also looked like he'd been tortured for who knew how long... because he had. And he was pretty sure that Rhodes still hated him over the helicarrier incident.

"What. The_ Fuck_." Rhodes gave Rogers a long look as he did something with a fancy bolt cutter. If anything, Brock just held on tighter and bared his bloodstained teeth. "How is he not dead and why is he in here with you?!"

"He tried to kill someone last night," Rogers evenly said.

Brock raised his head. "If I had tried to kill him, I woulda gone for the _throat_, not the arm. I just didn't feel like gettin' a cock up my ass, that's all." He didn't let go of Rogers and instead growled when Rhodes got to close. The man gave Brock a long look, but at least he didn't make Brock crawl out. He wasn't sure he actually had that much strength. Brock forced his fingers to wrap around Cap's suit. He didn't quite like the man, but at least he was pretty sure that Rogers wouldn't toss him on the Raft. If they did that, he could eat a gun right now. Brock looked around warily. He could hear fighting and a part of him cheered when he saw Winter put his knife through an agent's belly.

"Call him off!" Rhodes grabbed Brock's bad shoulder and squeezed, not caring how much it made Brock yelp. Rogers cleared his throat, but Rhodes didn't budge. "I have half a mind to kill you after what you did. After all of _my_ men _you_ killed. So unless you want to wind up on the Raft, why don't you do as your told for once in your life."

Brock didn't have the strength to argue. He just raised his head and cleared his throat. "Hey, Winter! Knock it off! You're on the Avenger's side now, handler's orders." Miracle of miracles, but it worked. Winter might not have been happy, but he glided over and flanked Rogers. For his part, Brock curled his aching body up and tried not to vomit when his spine was jarred. He needed what little he had. It might have been oatmeal and newspaper, but it was calories and his body was screaming for them. The light seemed to stab his eyes as he was brought out and Brock was dimly aware that he was naked in front of national news cameras. Someone jammed a microphone in Rogers' face, but that was when Brock groaned and vomited over the man's shoes.

Yeah, he felt like shit. But the look on Rhodes' face was so worth it.


	13. Chapter 13

Brock woke up and felt like he wanted to_ die_. His head hurt something awful and the beeping machines were really starting to give him a headache. That, and it seemed like some spark had seen fit to tape a feeding tube through his nose when he was out. Brock tried to pull on it, but the tape pulled on his beard and he had to leave it in. The man rested his head back and tried to get his wits about him. So. He was in a hospital. Brock didn't think he was cuffed to the bed, not yet, but that was probably because his spine felt like it was on fire. If anyone did any sort of half-assed scan, they would have noticed what had to be cracks. Brock shuddered as best he could.

So the serum had a limit. That, or Brock hadn't had the food that he needed to keep going. He swallowed some and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pounding tempo behind his eyes. It felt like someone was beating on his head with a hammer. Brock licked his dry lips and wished he had some water. Lying flat on his back didn't let him lift himself up and besides that, he was afraid he'd hurt his spine even more. Brock just lay there, his fingers wrapped up in the scratchy material. He felt... _clean_. Brock didn't remember the last time he'd felt so clean. He felt his throat start to close as he touched his hair and realized that it had been cut and washed. Someone had even styled it like he used too.

Brock closed his eyes and tried to swallow back his tears. Someone _cared_. Someone cared enough to shave his body like he used to do. Brock had gotten in the habit of shaving when he had to wear tactical pants. A lot of guys did - just like a lot of guys wore nylons under their clothes when they had a mission in subzero temperatures. Yes, it was something women did. However, dealing with infected ingrown hairs and freezing cold balls got old quick, so you had to do what you had to do. Brock swallowed some and tried to keep himself calm. Someone out there cared about him, but Brock was pretty sure that Cruz and Delacroix were dead. In fact, Brock knew that Cruz was dead - he'd hauled the mangled corpse out of the river himself.

Who the hell cared about him enough to wash, cut, and style his hair? The rest of his family was over a thousand miles away and those he was talking too couldn't exactly leave their jobs (or nursing homes) to come babysit him. That had actually been Brock's plan, before he was captured. Fuck off down south, take it up with the local powers that be, and fade into the background. Brock learned the hard way that no one really noticed him when he used his accent and unless he was really tired or really drunk, he hid it. Brock was also looking forwards to hearing the Old Language again. He mumbled a few of the words and rolled his eyes when he realized he was asking the creator to watch over him.

That wasn't Her job - that was someone else's job and Brock was pretty sure He wouldn't be so happy right now.

"Hey." Someone ruffled up Brock's hair and a pair of worried blue eyes stared into Brock's dark brown. Steve Rogers knelt beside the bed, fingering the IV lines and the feeding tube. "We thought we lost you more than once. It was... touch and go there for awhile. You're one tough son of a bitch."

"You do my hair?" Brock rasped. He looked around and saw the bottle of water by the bed. He tried not to whine, he really did, but he was pretty sure that Rogers heard him. Rogers shook his head and offered Brock a drink. He took it, sipping the water slowly so he wouldn't gag. Logically, he knew that he should drink slowly. He didn't want to kill himself from drinking too much water at once. He also knew that he shouldn't have the spicy noodles Rogers had by the bed, but they smelled _really_ good and he'd been surviving on semen, gruel, news paper, and the odd protein bar. His body had to require more calories than a normal human being.

"Yeah." Rogers took his hand and traced the port they'd put on his wrist. Brock tried to curl his fingers, but the twisted fingers barely obeyed him. His hand looked so thin, so frail against Rogers' hand and the white blanket. Rogers smiled sadly and started rubbing through Brock's thick, dark hair. "I thought you might like that, seeing as you were always messing with it."

"Thank you." Brock coughed some and closed his eyes. He felt like crap and he tried not to drool too much over the noodles. And then, finally, Brock knew he had to ask. It was a bad idea, he knew. However, it wasn't like Rogers would beat the crap out of Brock for asking. "You mind cuttin' up some of that and helping me with it? You're killing me here."

"I love the accent, Rumlow," Rogers teased.

"Forget my goddam accent." Brock pushed himself up and couldn't hide the scream. Rogers caught him and lowered him back down. Brock's eyes were wide open and he panted. Then he flushed, realizing he was wearing the adult version of diapers. Well, fuck his life. It was one thing to wear those so he wouldn't piss himself in the field, but it was another to wear them in a hospital. Brock panted some, trying to calm down. "Okay, so that fucking _hurt_. You got any of those morphine shots around or am I still allergic?"

"Still allergic." Rogers leaned down and brushed a kiss over Brock's forehead. "I talked to the doctors, Rumlow. You aren't allowed to have anything but what comes through the feeding tube, oatmeal, and chicken soup." Rogers shook his head some, brushing through Brock's thick, dark locks. "I even talked to Bucky. You would be amazed at what hot showers and pizza buys from him. You can't ask for anything not in your diet."

"I had to ask," Brock mumbled. He grasped Rogers' hand as best he could and coughed again. "Is my spine fucked?"

"You have four cracks in your vertebrae," Rogers murmured. "I spoke with Tony. I'm not sure they're sending you to the Raft - you have enhancements now and well... we kinda need superheroes. Just don't start yelling hail HYDRA." He leaned down and gave Brock a long look. "I still haven't quite forgiven you for not telling me about Bucky."

"I didn't know he was called Bucky," Brock replied. "I always knew him as the Asset or some variant of 'Winter Soldier'. And as much as you like to think about yourself and all the school shit, I didn't pay much attention in high school. I was too busy trying to get in Chase Wood's pants." Not that Chase would have given Brock the time of day. They were probably mildly related. Being part of the same tribe, and a small tribe at that, meant that you were pretty much related to everyone. If Brock had wanted to marry a woman, he would have had to look outside his tribe and their sister tribe, the Cotaco. As it was, Brock had never been interested in women and figured that if he was going to hell, he might as well go all the way.

Rogers sighed. "Do I have to worry about this 'Chase Wood' showing up?"

"Nope." Brock shook his head and laughed bitterly. "You might get an angry phone call from my sister, but that's about it. I'm not on speaking terms with the rest of my family." He shook his head and kissed Rogers' on the cheek. "I'm the only law abiding one out of the bunch and I went HYDRA."

Steve Rogers laughed softly and squeezed Brock's hand one last time before standing up. "Try not to die, will you? I might have gotten a little attached."

"I tend to have that affect on people," Brock teased. He coughed again, though, and burrowed under the blankets. Yeah, a little more rest was in order. As far as Brock cared, he'd earned the right to be as lazy as he liked.


	14. Chapter 14

Brock didn't say much as he lay on the hospital bed. He had all the time in the world to watch his documentaries, such as the one about [toilets](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ZHm3vkavgM&list=PLFXjUhgSe6nnyKqYMmEmIbwaO024JE80v&index=5), and those stupid dramas about people trying to live in the past. Yes, he was weird. Yes, he knew it annoyed people when he was watching something off his phone and "forgot" to bring earbuds. The others might have given him some weird looks, but he just didn't care. Brock had watched the one he was currently watching several times. It was one of his favorites, mostly because it was about a mildly interesting topic_ and_ it annoyed the hell out of Rollins. It might not have been the most manly thing he'd ever done, but he had to admit that it helped with the PTSD.

Some of the women had accents that could send him right to sleep if the nightmares were really bad. Yes, he knew it was bad to fall asleep to someone lecturing about how you could die in other time periods. However, the woman had the best voice and he could listen to her reading the fucking _telephone book_ (he was _really_ showing his age) and actually go to sleep. The guy Brock was listening too now grated the nerves some, but he was willing to keep going with it. Brock just hoped that Steve wouldn't ask for his phone back or that he didn't check the YouTube search history. Brock didn't know how he could explain something the "lavatorial dark ages" with a straight face.

Someone sat beside him. Brock looked over, his brows knitting up in confusion. He had no idea who this man was. His skin was a little lighter than Brock's own and he had shoulder length dirty blonde hair. His light amber eyes were trained on the glowing device in Brock's hands. Brock snatched Steve's phone away fro whoever the hell this was and rolled away as best his brace would allow. Yeah, the brace sucked, but it sucked less than having his spine broken and getting his ass wiped every time he had to take a shit. He really wasn't in the mood to explain why he was watching this particular documentary, thank you very much. But whoever this was really didn't seem to understand that.

"Fuck _off_." Brock gave the man a dark look. "Yeah, you have some nice stubble. Now fuck _off_." He sighed some and rubbed his face, cursing the full beard he was now sporting. Rogers might help him shave his body, but apparently doing the face was another story, especially when Brock had a feeding tube in. He was getting better, yes, but he still felt like shit. Brock sighed some and looked up. "Do I know you?"

Listening about the Great Stink of 1858 with an audience was an act of intimacy that Brock wasn't quiet ready for. Especially with a rando who probably wandered in off the street.

"You know Winter," the man murmured. He leaned down, his broad, powerful hands stroking over Brock's twisted and scarred ones. He frowned some and rolled his eyes. The man didn't seem to like him and there was something crazy in his amber eyes. "I don't know what Winter sees in you. You're stupid and weak. You let them capture you, then curled up like a starving dog!"

"Gee, I love the vote of confidence," Brock drawled. "Now fuck _off_. I have no idea who you are and I really don't fucking_ care_. I feel like shit, I'm on enough painkillers to choke a horse, and I don't know your ugly mug from Adam. So go _away_." He sighed some and rubbed his face. The man, whoever the hell he was, didn't move. He only growled low and grabbed at the phone. After a few minutes, Brock sighed and propped himself up. Well, it looked like he was going to be giving this crazy asshole an education on early sanitation and how it _really_ sucked to not have a modern flushing toilet. Brock was using a dual catheter system at the moment, so all he had to do was just let his body do what it needed to do.

"You are a very odd man," the rando softly said. He had a bit of a Russian accent and he had a little bit of Winter in his eyes. He squirmed closer to Brock and cocked his head. "Why are you so interested in simple human functions? Just shit and get on with it! There's no need for any of this!"

"It's funny. I like shit jokes. It was also an excuse to annoy the team assholes, which was all of them. Shitting is_ funny_." Brock grinned some. "And it's also annoying you and you're sitting on me. So shut up and get educated or fuck right off." Brock would actually rather that he fucked right off, but apparently luck was not on his side. Brock could count on one hand the number of times lady luck had been on his side. He sighed and elbowed the man some. "Can you at least tell me your fucking _name_?"

"I'm called Josef." The man curled up more and cocked his head. "I was also called the Steel Guardian, until some German asswipe tried to kill me." Josef rolled his eyes. "I got better, though. Krauts can't fucking shoot worth a damn."

"Okay, Josef, you're sitting on my brace," Brock growled. He sighed some as Josef rolled away. The man was still curious, though, and after a few minutes, he started grinning some and saying something in Russian. Brock rolled his eyes. Great. Just what he needed. Another fucking Russian who apparently didn't know that he should be using English. Brock wasn't going to be the one who told him, though. He just let Josef curl up beside him. Why this guy liked him, Brock had no idea. He was getting an idea that this Josef was another Winter Soldier, that Pierce hadn't been crazy when he said there was more than one Soldier. Brock didn't want to have a Winter Soldier be damn near in his lap, watching a hilariously irreverent documentary about _toilets_.

Steve came back, holding a tray of oatmeal and fucking coffee. Brock struggled to get up, but Josef held him down. The man whined some, but he stayed perfectly still otherwise. Steve opened his mouth to say something. Brock shook his head some and he really hoped that Steve would just give him the food and go. Steve had been pretty good about letting Brock use his phone, so why shouldn't he be alright with this? Josef seemed to be nervous, too. He was tensed up and his amber eyes stared into Steve's.

"What's going on?" Steve slowly asked.

Brock coughed some and shook his head. "He's another Winter Soldier." Brock held up his hands and _whimpered_ some when Steve helped him sip on the coffee. Stars above, it tasted so good that he wanted to just cry. He just allowed Steve to sit there and feed him, just ignoring Josef. He was going to enjoy his coffee, dammit.

No ex-Soviet murder bot was going to get in the way of that.


	15. Chapter 15

Brock felt like utter shit and apparently Fury didn't care. Not that he blamed the guy. Brock was pretty sure that he was crazy and he was the only guy who could control two ex-Soviet murder bots. Winter was one thing. Winter he was pretty sure he could control. Feed him a personal pan pizza and a lemonade and he would be your best friend for life. The other one... well, Brock had no idea who he was, but he followed Winter like a lost puppy. Brock called him Jo-Jo. Jo-Jo was grumpy, nervous around other people, and tended to growl at the doctors. He was scrawny, far smaller than Winter was at his skinniest. He needed to eat, but he wasn't happy with the food he was getting right now.

The food was probably way too rich for him or maybe the flavors were a bit too... intense for him. He was Soviet, but there was no telling what he'd been getting before all of this. It likely wasn't a lot, seeing as how his ribs poked through his skin. That meant that Brock now had to make sure that the guy was eating, but it was hard doing that from a hospital bed. Not that Fury wanted him to stay in the hospital bed. That meant that Steve had to entertain Jo-Jo and Winter. How he was going to do _that_ was anyone's guess. Winter could be entertained with a book of word searches, Sudoku, and a Rubik's cube. Jo-Jo was fascinated by TV, so that might help. However, he had horrible manners and he was starting to teach Winter some bad habits.

Brock fidgeted in the hard chair. He wanted to pop his back, but the brace wouldn't let him do that. He still felt like shit and they were having to break his fingers one at a time. Even though they were trying to repair the damage, it was slow going. Brock was pretty sure that he wasn't going to ever get better. He couldn't shoot with crippled hands. All the information he had was worthless. He'd been held underground and tortured for who knew how long. Brock leaned back against the hard plastic and pulled at the cuffs. He was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to fight. He had one leg, his hands were crippled, and he was pretty sure that he was starting to go blind from all the head trauma.

Fury entered the room and gave Brock a long look. He kicked the legs of the chair, his face grim, as he circled around the hard, plastic chair. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."

"It wasn't personal," Brock drawled. He rolled his eyes and rattled the cuffs. "This is overkill, ya know. I can't walk. I can't hold a fucking _BB gun_. All I could do was tell Wints to do something and he's off playing with Rogers and Jo-Jo."

"It's never overkill when it comes to Nazi scum." Fury leaned down, his face hard. He tipped Brock's face up and stroked over the scars. Brock knew what he looked like. He was covered in scars and his face had taken the worst of it. He lowered his head some and tried not to let Fury see how cracked he was. He was going crazy. If Fury knew that, he was going to have Brock put down. The man narrowed his eyes. "I have half a mind to ship you off to the Raft, even though Rogers vouched for you. Now tell me why I shouldn't just put a slug through your brain right now."

"Because I know how to wrangle Winter and you don't?" Brock slowly asked. "I mean, unless you wanna take it up the ass from him and be my guest on that. He doesn't always give you enough time to get all lubed up, so you're warned." He made a nasty smile and shrugged as best he could. He was in pain, he was grumpy. and he wanted some fucking coffee. Would it kill the guys to get him a coffee? Even the nasty extract stuff that they served STRIKE on the missions? Brock raised his head some and gave Fury a glare. "Yeah. I had to put up with that one and there's not much you can do about it."

He wasn't going to tell Fury how much it hurt every time Winter fucked him bloody. Not just because he trusted Winter, but because he liked feeling that he was a human being. Winter didn't seem to understand that Brock was a person, too. If he wanted a fuck, he was going to take that fuck, rather Brock wanted too or not.

"I'm pretty sure that you deserved it," Fury snapped. "You betrayed me and I trusted you." He paced some, his eyes dark. He was in a bad mood, Brock could tell, but the man was too strung out to really care. He was on the drugs and he was feeling like he was floating. Yeah, that meant that Brock probably had a concussion. Fury didn't look like he cared. "You tried to take over the world and I'm supposed to forgive you? I've sent you to kill people who did less than you! I_ trusted_ you. I _gave_ you the greenlight to get into STRIKE. And what did you do? Throw it all away to lick the boots of Nazi _scum_. And as far as I care, the only good Nazi is a dead Nazi. If you cross me again... I'll make sure you never see the light of day again."

"Yeah, the last person who said that was a prison guard in Siberia and he had a thing for two in one, if you get my drift." Brock leaned back and gave Fury a smirk. "I killed him, you know. He choked to death on his own blood. Thallium is a hell of a drug." That death had been an accident, but Fury didn't need to know that. Brock didn't read Cyrillic and the guy had wanted to humiliate Brock by making him cook. Brock had been looking to make a paraffin cake, because he was that much of an asshole, but he had no idea that he was handling liquid thallium instead of a petrol extract that would give you a nasty case of diarrhea. It was the chemists' fault for leaving his nasties in the pantry.

Fury gave Brock a long look. "Are you threatening to kill me?"

"Nope." Brock drawled out the words and gave the man a nasty grim. "I wouldn't have to do that, you know." No, because he's crouch down on all fours and spread his legs. Because apparently that was all he was good for. Brock sighed. "No, I wouldn't kill you. I'd be your bitch, just like I'm Winter's bitch and I used to be Pierce's bitch until he got someone knew. Apparently, I'm great with my mouth."

Fury snarled some and got up. "Get him out of here!" he snapped. Brock knew he was being watched and he flipped whoever it was off as best he could. Fury stormed out of there. He paused, right before he slammed the door. "If I ever see you again, it would be too soon."

Brock turned his head. "Someone mind getting me out of here before I shit my pants?" Not that he minded taking a piss just to make them mad. Brock gave them five minutes. "And you were warned, because I gotta go."

Sitting in the foul stuff was worth seeing the looks on their faces as they had to hose him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been incredibly busy publishing some of my original work! If you like my content, mind clicking  
[HERE](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07YLX5T9B)? Help support your local Native American fanfic author?


	16. Chapter 16

Brock looked over and swallowed some. He needed to get out of this bed. There was only so much TV and YouTube he could watch before he went mad. Well, crazier than he already was. Brock pulled himself up and hummed one of the darker songs that he'd listened too. Maybe if his bones were ground to dust in the sea, he wouldn't be in pain like he was right now. It was just a thought. He shook his head some, making sure that Winter and Jo-Jo weren't around. They had left him alone for some reason and one of the doctors had clipped a muzzle on him. Brock hated to admit it, but he wasn't the biter. That was Winter, thank you very much. The muzzle was some sheet of pure metal, hardened and wrapped to fit around the human jaw.

He tried to work his jaw, as his mouth was dry, but the muzzle forced his jaw shut. Brock rolled his eyes some. He huffed some, but there was nothing he could do. He rattled his cuffs against the metal bed railing. No one even walked towards him. Brock knew he was being ignored. They had every right to do that, too. He was HYDRA. They were SHIELD. They had every right to do with him whatever they wanted. If that meant he played bitch for SHIELD, he was going to play the bitch for SHIELD. Hopefully, they wouldn't torture him as badly as STRIKE had done. All Brock needed was enough food and rest and then he was just as strong as Winter was. Brock was pretty sure he could even take Rogers, if he was given enough time and lube.

One of the orderlies came over to deal with him. Brock let the guy deal with his hands, wincing some as the orderly none-too-gently jerked the broken and twisted digits. Brock grunted some. He could ignore the pain if he needed too and he focused on cracks in the wall, rather than let the man know that he was in pain. The orderly gave him a nasty look. Brock ignored him. He looked up and tried to count the ceiling tiles. The orderly slipped something under his skin. Brock did grunt from that one - the needle wasn't a butterfly needle and it felt dull. He tried not to jerk his hand back, but that was almost in the too hard to do pile. Brock closed his eyes some, enjoying the gentle buzz that came from painkillers.

_Fuck_, but that felt good.

The orderly grabbed Brock's muzzle. "I oughta do you like I did that last convict. We'll see how much you enjoy this with your head on a post. You deserve it, too. Nazi scum. I oughta put you down like a rabid dog." He gave Brock a nasty smile. "And even if you tell someone, they're not gonna believe you. Why should they?"

The guy had a point, but Brock didn't care to acknowledge it. He growled as best he could, but his dry throat made it hard. The man laughed darkly, his dark green eyes glittering with malice. He had dark red hair and his features were clean cut. If Brock had to admit it, the guy looked pretty good. Maybe if he wasn't trying to medically torture him, Brock would have considered giving the guy a blowjob and calling it a day. He was clean. Apparently Stark had ordered that one himself. Brock figured he was going to be Stark's bitch on top of everything else. The man gave Brock a nasty look. Brock tried to pull away from him, but there was nothing he could do. He was powerless right now. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, and he was helpless in front of this man.

He knew it, too. He smirked some and mussed up Brock's hair before wandering off. Brock closed his eyes and tried to keep calm. He'd done worse than this. He'd gone undercover into one of the worst prisons in New York to protect a mobster. That was where Brock got the barb wire tattoo around his left wrist. The allergic reaction was worth the art. Brock might have been getting a handpicked tattoo from an absolute psycho, but the guy was a genius when it came to inking. Brock had seen several of the orderlies and even an EMT eyeing the art. He wondered if he should tell him that he'd let one of the most brutal killers in New York work him over with homemade ink and a sharpened paperclip.

Jack hadn't believed him until Wilson flipped his shit over the ink composition.

Brock rested his head against the thin, cold pillow. He wanted to get out of here and he knew he was going to go nuts until he was let out of here. He knocked the fitting against the metal piping. He was ignored, once again, but there was nothing he could do about it. He wanted out of here! He wanted Jo-Jo. he wanted Winter, hell, he even wanted Tony fucking _Stark_ and he wasn't too proud to admit it. Brock grimaced some, trying to pop out his back. What he wouldn't give for Winter and a handful of warming oil right about now. His back felt like it was all knotted up, but hey, who was going to care? He was Brock Rumlow, the HYDRA squid Nazi, and he was worthless to them.

His father had said that about him. The man was usually drunk and nothing Brock ever did was right. It wasn't Brock's fault that he was legally kidnapped from a family that might have loved him. His new "father" had been an overly religious drunk who did nothing but slap his wife and kids around. Brock, being what he was, took the brunt, but his "mother" took her licks, too. All these years later, Brock had a hard time forgiving her. He fingered the nasty scar across his legs, trying not to relive one of the worst nights of his life. He didn't like being held down even now. That was one thing that STRIKE hadn't been able to break him out of. No matter how much the agents might have tried, Brock still couldn't relax when he was tried down.

Brock looked up when Steve came down. He tried to signal to the man, knowing that if Steve ignored him, too, Brock might finally drop into the deep end. And he wasn't talking fake, mobster deep end. He was talking the real thing. The thing he might not come back from. Brock looked up at him and gestured as best he could. Steve swore under his breath. He was gentle with him, letting Brock know what he was doing before he held up his hands and carefully worked the muzzle off. Brock worked his jaw and accepted a few sips of water. He wasn't going to lie, that water tasted better than anything he'd had in a long time. Brock offered Steve a smile, shaking his head as Steve drew his hands through Brock's beard.

"Why'd you shave?" Steve asked. "I like the beard better."

"Drives me crazy," Brock mumbled. He raised his head and tried not to shiver. "Stay with me, please?" He needed it right now. He needed to stay with someone and he had no idea where Winter was. Steve nodded and curled up beside him. Brock tried not to curl up too close to him. He didn't want to act like he was too grateful for the touch, but it was hard for him. Steve didn't seem to mind. Instead, he wrapped the man close to him and allowed Brock to be the little spoon.

Maybe he really was a natural bitch.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're gonna go with Steve's POV this time just because!

Steve slipped through the halls of the medical facility, his blue eyes worried. Brock was starting to go stir crazy. Steve didn't blame him at all. He'd hated having to be in a hospital when he was sick and even then he had Bucky with him. Other than him, Brock had no one. Steve knew that the staff was mistreating him, too. Brock had odd bruises on his arms and he wasn't getting better like he should have. His face was still scarred and he was still thin. Much too thin, if you asked Steve. What he wanted to do was get Brock out of the hospital and back to the Avenger's Tower. He was pretty sure that Tony wouldn't like this, but Steve felt like he had no choice. If Brock was to die, Steve was pretty sure that Bucky would lose it.

If Bucky lost it, Steve didn't know what he would do.

"Hey." He knocked on the steel door and stepped into the sad room. Brock lay in his bed, listless, with an IV in his arm. He glanced up some, but his eyes closed. He didn't seem like he was doing very well. Steve sat beside him and squeezed Brock's twisted, broken hand. Brock weakly squeezed back, but there wasn't any other movement. He looked like hell. Steve swallowed some as he sat there, stroking his hand and holding him close. Brock's tattoos were stretched out against his skin and they lay oddly against his hollow form. He looked like he needed better care than what he was getting. Steve couldn't leave him right there. Brock might die if he did and Steve knew what a clusterfuck that would be.

"Hey." Brock shivered some. He didn't open his eyes. He just lay there, limp and weak against the crisp white sheets. His skin looked pale and sickly, not the deep tan that he usually had. Brock's hair was messed up and it looked like he hadn't even combed it out today. He coughed weakly, but he didn't move other than that. Steve wondered what he'd been given. Whatever it was, it hadn't been good for him.

"I'm getting you out of here," Steve softly said. "I don't know what they're giving you, but I don't think it's working." He looked around some and swore under his breath. "Do you have a wheelchair or something? I might wind up jarring you and I don't want that to happen." He stood up some. He thought there was a chair in the corner, but he didn't want to leave Brock. Steve did get up after a few minutes and grabbed the wheelchair. It was old and looked uncomfortable, but it would do. Steve put a blanket down on it to make it a little softer. Brock didn't even protest as Steve pulled the IV out and wrapped his weak body up in another blanket. This one was rougher, but it would do. It would have to do.

Brock coughed again. He was too weak, too listless, and Steve didn't like that one bit. The man squeezed the arm rests, but other than that, Brock wasn't moving. Steve wondered if he'd even_ eaten_ that day. He wondered if Brock was too cold or if the wet rattle in his chest was just a cold or something far nastier. Steve squeezed Brock's shoulder as he started wheeling him out of the hospital room. Brock wasn't in the mood to say anything and he just slumped down like a sack of wet garbage. Brock usually had something to say. He liked to talk and could hold a conversation on just about anything. To have him be silent and just lie still was unnerving. It made Steve wonder if the man actually had brain damage.

"What are you doing?" One of the orderlies walked forwards. "What are you doing with that prisoner?!"

"That prisoner is _Brock Rumlow_," Steve growled. "I'm taking him to the Avengers Tower where he can be guarded and cared for properly. No offense to you, but he'd about half dead." And if he died, there was a good chance that both Winter Soldiers would be borderline unmanageable. Steve didn't know what he'd do if they had to make Bucky sleep for good. He ignored the man's shouting and wheeled Brock into the elevator. It took him a few minutes, but he was pretty sure that wheezing sound was Brock's laugh. Steve himself smiled. "Yes, laugh it up. But it was nothing personal, you know."

"Sorry," Brock wheezed. He swallowed some and looked up with tired eyes. "It was orders. I had to do what I had to do." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He coughed again and groaned softly. "I don't know what was in that last injection, but it felt like utter shit. Fucker used a dull needle." He groaned again and started coughing. "Can this elevator go any slower?"

"I don't know, if you grumble at it, it might break completely," Steve muttered. He sighed some and rubbed his face. Brock made a whining sound. He hid his face and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Brock. I shouldn't have said that."

"You wound me." Brock rested his head back and coughed slowly. He grinned as the elevator opened and weakly raised his arms. "And I am _outta_ that hell hole, ever to return." Apparently, that was a little much for his body, because he coughed and held his side. Brock didn't say anything for a long time. He kept his eyes closed and didn't do anything when the media circus surrounded him. Brock did offer them a bird or two, but otherwise he was silent. It was also clear that he looked like utter shit. Someone was going to have some answering to do. Steve felt a little jolt of glee at that. He also enjoyed leaving the chair on the curb and taking great care in arranging Brock's weak body in Tony's limousine.

Brock opened his eyes and slumped over on Steve's side. "This is fancy."

"Only the best for you," Steve teased. He wrapped an arm around Brock and pressed a kiss against his cheek. Brock squirmed some, but he didn't fight it back. He looked pretty bad, but there was a little color in his cheeks now. He looked better. "Do you know what they gave you?"

"Nope." Brock closed his eyes once again and pressed as close as he could. "Just know that it made me feel bad."

Steve nodded some and stroked his cheek. "They won't touch you again," he softly said. "I'll make sure of it."

"Thank you," Brock whispered. He pressed as close to Steve as he could and just let Steve hold and touch him. Steve could tell that he felt bad. He was just wanting comfort and that was what Steve gave him. Maybe he wanted to use this as currency to trade for Bucky or maybe he just enjoyed having someone who liked him like this. Steve wasn't sure. He just smiled softly, though, and cuddled Brock until they reached the tower.


	18. Chapter 18

Brock honestly didn't know what was going on, except he was going to sleep until he felt better. Fuck the world, but he was going to sleep and he was going to _enjoy_ it. He had all the blankets he could ever want, he had two Soldiers who wanted to hold him, and he had Captain-Fucking-_America_ waiting on him hand and foot. Brock might not get to have pizza and beer, but he could have spaghetti and Mountain Dew and that was close enough. Brock was willing to put up with the IV. He was willing to put up with all the goddam machines. He was willing to put up with the doctors prodding the scars, his ass, or the brace. Brock was willing to put up with _all_ of it if it meant he could have Winter again.

Winter curled beside him, his metal hand resting on Brock's hip. His blue eyes were lighter now and he wasn't covered in blood. He looked far healthier than he used too and his body rippled with new muscles. Winter rubbed his chin on the back of Brock's neck and going by the happy Winter sounds he was making, he was in a pretty good mood. "Glad you're back. Steve makes me an' Jo-Jo go to the doctor all the time. I don't like him. He makes me talk a lot and he asks me about collars and shit and HYDRA. Don't wanna talk about that."

"Then tell him to shut the fuck up," Brock mumbled. He rolled over and kissed Winter's cheek. "That worked for me."

Winter made a face. "But he's nice. I don't wanna make him be mean to me."

Brock rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to explain the idea of courtesy to a man who barely remembered to wipe his own ass. Despite the fact that Winter had "chosen" him, he hadn't been the roughest of Brock's lovers/abusers. Brock had been a prisoner of war several times. He'd gone through the hell that was HYDRA prisoner. He was pretty sure he could take a pushy Winter and if push came to shove, he would tell Winter where to go. Maybe he could get his rocks off with Jo-Jo or something. Brock coughed softly and rubbed his chest. He caught Winter's hands and rubbed over them, feeling over the pressure points that made Winter melt like goo. If he was in the mood, he might reward Winter later.

"I don't wanna be called Bucky," Winter mumbled. "Don't know who Bucky is. Don't know who James is. I'm _Winter_." Winter growled the last one and nipped Brock's ear like he still owned him. The Soldier got up some, the blankets falling off of him. He growled low and going by the way he was tensed, someone other than Steve or Jo-Jo was at the door. Brock just ignored him. Most of the staff had learned that Winter bit. Winter didn't want them to take _his_ Brock - by all accounts, Winter had gotten wild during Brock's hospital stay.

Rhodes held up his hands, but still entered the dimly lit, sterile room. He flipped the lights on, prompting a hiss from Winter. Rhodes didn't back off. "Hey, hey. I'm not gonna arrest your boyfriend, even though he deserves to rot under Rikers. I just came to see if he had a microchip in him, just like you did."

Brock raised his head. "They shorted it right after shit went down. Hurt like hell, but it's basically a chunk of burnt out wires an' shit in my arm. I don't think you could get anything from it and I'd rather you not try." Not that it would matter, anyways. If Rhodes told him to put it out, he'd put it out. He'd give the man the best damn blowjob he'd ever had. Brock shook his head some and shrugged. "Watch Winter, will ya? I don't want him to get wild. I'm still a little sore from Hotel HYDRA."

'A little sore' was an understatement. If Brock never took it up the ass again, it would be too soon. Realistically, though, he knew that it was just a matter of time with Winter. Winter might understand that Brock was sick and injured, but delicate parts of Winter's mind hadn't worked for decades. There was also the matter of the handler who had taught him to ignore consent. No matter how deep HYDRA had wiped, they couldn't get that out of his brain. That was why Brock had been chosen as Winter's release - all because a sadistic shit sack could get off on forcing Winter to rape and torture anyone he wanted. Brock needed to pay the man a midnight visit, but he couldn't get down to Florida with one leg and busted ribs.

"You mean he'd...?" Rhodes made a gesture.

"Yup." Brock pulled himself up to a sitting position and watched as Winter tensed even more. "Apparently, he's been this way since the Sixties, at least. They couldn't get it out of his head and believe you me, they _tried_. I tried teachin' him about consent, but my stay under HYDRA might have undone everything I tried to do." The training had been tricky at best and Brock had resorted to ketamine more that once. "Thank the gods for ketamine because without it, he woulda killed me."

"You're letting him in your bed." Rhodes swallowed. "Man, you're crazy!"

"I know." Brock wasn't going to explain the fucked up shit that went through his head. Winter had been his lover, rapist, both, and nothing. Winter, though, hadn't really ever meant to hurt him - from what Brock understood, Winter barely understood his body or his own urges. Add that to the fucked up mental conditioning and you got the Winter Soldier who barely understood why he got aroused, only that he was feelings that hurt and needed to go. He used Brock to do that - not that Brock blamed him.

Rhodes sat down on the bed and ignored the nasty snarl before handing a file to Brock. "Stark found this on Jo-Jo. Might not want to let him see it - I'm not sure you can take his crazy."

Brock nodded and closed the file. "I'll wait til he's sleeping. Thanks for the warning."

He got the feeling he'd need it.


	19. Chapter 19

Brock woke up to a low growl. He tried to roll over, but was pinned down by a hand as cold as ice. Brock blinked open one amber eye. He cursed under his breath, watching as Winter rubbed his hips over Brock's body. He didn't seem to care that Brock wasn't into this, that he was trying to push Winter off, or that Brock was starting to pant in fear. The man snarled low. He bared his teeth and nipped over Brock's shoulder. He pawed at Brock's shirt and managed to get it off without shredding the material Brock leaned his head back. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore how his skin was starting to crawl. Winter didn't seem to understand that Brock didn't have any lube.

"Winter..." Brock whispered. He tried to push Winter off, but only got a snarl for his troubles. "_Winter_. I don't have any lube. You'll hurt me!"

Winter cocked an eyebrow. There was something feral in his eyes and he started searching through one of the drawers. "Sounds like a personal problem to me." He gave Brock a smile and captured his lips in a filthy kiss. There was something dark in his eyes now and it was like he was running on instinct. Winter growled low once again. He leaned down, tracing over Brock's chest. "Steve has been mean to me. I don't like him."

"I belong to Steve," Brock whispered. He knew this wasn't true, that Steve would kill him if he heard about it, but there was nothing else he could try. He shook his head some and swallowed. He tried to push the man off, knowing that this was going to go bad. Winter growled even lower. He tried to pin Brock's arms down. Maybe he didn't know why Brock was so rigid or why his eyes were so wild. The man swallowed some. He didn't want this. He didn't want _any_ of this. Brock just wanted to force him away, but he just wasn't strong enough. "Yasha. You gotta get off me, okay? You're hurting me!" Brock struggled some and looked up. "JARVIS! _JARVIS_! Get Steve! Please!"

"Steve's not coming," Winter breathed. He smiled some. It was supposed to be a nice thing, Brock thought, but it came across as something more terrifying. Winter growled softly and lowered his head. He kissed Brock again, nipping over his lips. Brock tried not to open his mouth, tried to twist his head away, but Winter didn't let him. He stripped off his own shirt and started grinding his hips into Brock's lap. "Gonna give you something good. Gonna make sure you feel good." He smirked some. "Gonna let you have me. Thought you might like that."

Brock leaned his head back. "I can't get hard, Wints. I haven't even tried." He gripped the sheets and leaned his head back as Winter peeled the sheets down. The man smiled some. There was something wild in his blue eyes. He stroked over Brock's lap and made a sad cooing sound. Brock felt his belly roll. He hadn't been interested in anything sexual since he'd been captured. He was willing to put out, of course, but he wasn't used to being on top. His belly twisted. Brock tried not to gasp and cry out, but there was nothing he could do. Winter was going to get what wanted. Winter might not understand that Brock was Steve's now. That or he just didn't care. Brock was willing to put his money on the last one.

Winter touched him gently. He stroked over Brock's cock with oddly gentle hands. It was like he didn't understand what Brock was going through or why Brock was trying to twist away from him. The man growled softly. He kissed Brock again and fished around for the lube. Brock wished he would just get on with it. Winter was quite rough with himself, not taking time to really get himself opened up, and he sunk down on Brock as soon as the man was half hard. Brock couldn't help himself. He groaned and closed his eyes. Winter didn't seem to understand what was going on. He was enjoying himself, gently riding Brock and stroking over the other man's scarred body.

"I'll kill them," Winter whispered. He leaned down some and pulled Brock's twisted hands over his lap. Winter's body rippled with muscles and he was starting to get sweaty. Brock felt his own body start to tense. He tried not to scratch Winter, knowing that he hated it, and looked up to those dark eyes. Winter brushed through Brock's hair and closed his eyes. "So good..."

"I'm glad you're enjoying this," Brock muttered. He rested his head back and tried to just wait it out. He knew he was going to finish soon and that might not go over as well as Winter might like it too. Winter arched himself up and cried out. It seemed like he was pretty close and that was good. Brock lolled his head back, the sheets cool beneath his fingers. The world was starting to go blurry around him... and then Brock knew no more. The last thing he heard was Winter's angry cry and the last thing he felt was a dull blow that felt like it came from miles away.

And then.. Brock knew nothing.


	20. Chapter 20

It took Brock a little bit, but he was pretty sure he knew why half of SHIELD was starting to fuss over him again. He was still, officially, part of HYDRA. They still had his name on the papers, but no one could figure out Pierce's super secret internet password to get in there. Brock didn't know it, either. As he was so find of saying now, that was a bit beyond his pay grade. Like, sixteen levels above his pay grade. Brock hadn't ever been one to ask too many questions, something he was regretting now, but he knew enough to make him valuable. Well, valuable beyond 'Winter Soldier fuck toy'. He was pretty sure that was still his primary occupation. Winter had his needs, yes, but Brock was still tired. He still looked (and felt) like death warmed over.

Winter didn't care.

Brock had gotten a wheelchair now and even though his spine was still healing, he was allowed to go out and about a little bit. Learning how to use the thing took practice. What was the most annoying was when someone tried to help him out. That was why Brock had a screwdriver, the back of the chair on his lap, and half a dozen pieces of metal scattered all over the bed. Fuck all those do-gooders, but he could move _himself_, thank you very much. Brock had propped pillows behind his back so he wasn't in that much pain and he could honestly say that he knew what he was doing. He'd swiped Cap's phone and pulled up the user's guide so he knew what he was doing.

Someone cleared his throat. "You done yet?"

"Almost." Brock didn't bother looking up. He brushed some hair out of his eyes, aware that his fingers were straight now, but his hands still shook. "Mind holding this thing still so I don't stab myself?" Brock had a feeling who it was and he didn't feel like being judged right now. Rhodes knew. Brock was pretty sure he'd seen some of it. And yet... Brock wished he understood, but there was no way in hell Brock could fight Winter off. Especially if he was crippled.

"No." Rhodes crossed his arms. "Rogers know you have his phone?"

"No. And I don't read people's texts, either." Brock gave him an annoyed look. "Rhodes, I'm tired of people grabbing the handles on this thing and pushing me around. I'm a big boy, I can move myself." Besides, he was tired of being helpless. Learned helplessness might have come to Winter, but not to Brock. Winter was the most dangerous thing in the room, but he still cowed down if you gave him a nasty look. Well, unless he was horny and he was after Brock. Brock sighed softly and swallowed. "He knows I borrow his phone. If he didn't want me to use it, I'd have a broken neck right. Besides, he's usually using his StarkPad or somethin'. I'm just trying not to get kidnapped again."

"Not sure anyone would want your traitor ass," Rhodes growled. "I trusted you, you know. I trusted you to guide me straight and not turn me over to HYDRA. And what did you do? Exactly that."

Brock gave him a dull look. "Rhodes, if you're talkin' about the Trisk, I was probably chained down and takin' halfa STRIKE up my ass. Believe you me, I woulda been fighting if I had a choice." He went back to his tinkering. "Besides, it's not like I had much of a chance after Cap kicked my ass. It wasn't like the service. I got in as a dumb kid, lookin' for a way to send money back home and I got out as a human wreck, looking for a reason not to swallow a bottle of pills. But I'll put myself out of your misery, if that's what you want. Have fun with Winter, though."

Rhodes rubbed his face. "That's not what I meant."

"Then fuck off." Brock finished putting everything back together and whistled so the house droid come come do whatever what the scraps. It took some maneuvering and cursing, but he got himself in the chair and tested it out a few times. Brock smiled softly._ That_ would teach certain overeager kids and super soldiers not to just grab and push. Brock glanced up, noticing that Rhodes was still there. "What do you want?! I'm too sore if you wanna have a go, so that's out." Unless he was like HYDRA and didn't care. Brock tried not to shudder. Rhodes was a good man, so Brock figured he wouldn't try anything without an explicit conversation.

"Why do you -!"

"Because it makes people go away!" Brock snapped. Fury radiated off of his every surface and his eyes narrowed into dark, angry slits. "Because it makes everyone leave me alone and not treat me like shit or a puppy who can't do anything by himself!" Brock gripped his fists. "I'm tired of people grabbing my chair, I'm tired of the pity, and I'm tired of the whispers like I'm on my fucking death bed! Yeah, I know I'm probably not gonna walk again, Rhodes. I ain't healing right." He took a deep breath and tried to hide how much it hurt. "I'm not broken. I'm not broken, no matter how much they wanted me to be."

Rhodes swore softly. "Done with your little temper tantrum?"

"No." Brock crossed his arms and glared at him, like he was a child.

"You need to talk to people." Rhodes gave him a tired look, like he couldn't believe he was having to say this. "I know you don't like Sam very much, but the guy's got a degree in therapy and deals with trauma. Honestly, you wouldn't be his hardest case." He cracked a dry smile and shook his head. "That would be Winter. Maybe Josef, who, by the way, is looking for you. He asked me to go find you - something about how he misses you and you wouldn't hide all the time. Can't say that I blame them, you have a way with both of them that no one else comes close too. That said, I'm tired of keeping Josef out of my coffee every morning, so come deal with your pet Soviets."

Brock sighed softly and closed his eyes. "Maybe I don't wanna look at people. Ever thought of that?"

"I'm not giving you a choice." Rhodes searched around the back of that chair and swore under his breath. "Mission accomplished, you asshole. Now mind dealing with your problems?"

"Fine." Brock quietly gathered up the courage to deal with the others and wheeled himself out of the room. He noticed Rhodes opened a few doors for him and kicked rugs out of the way. Brock silently thanked the man. Maybe if he wasn't so fucked up, he could have dealt with this better. He just didn't know, of course, and knew that he was going to have to make this worthwhile for the others. If that meant wrangling Winter and Josef, that meant wrangling Winter and Josef. He could do it, of course.

He had too. The other alternative was rotting on the Raft.


	21. Chapter 21

Brock wanted up, but there was no way on God's green earth that he was going to be able to get up right about now. Josef had snuggled into his side and Winter pressed against him, that damn arm dangling in his lap. It was like he wanted to crush Brock into the couch. What Brock wanted to do was snap at him to move, but there was no way that was going to happen. The Soldiers were asleep and they wanted to stay asleep. If Brock woke them, there might be hell to pay. Winter could get horny at the drop of a hat. If he wanted some ass, there wasn't much stopping him from just taking it right now. Brock might have been sitting in Avengers HQ, but no force on earth could stop a determined Soldier.

They were watching some cheesy little movie. Something about Christmas and the magic thereof. Brock didn't want to be there, but he was pretty sure he needed to do it. He curled his fingers through Winter's long hair, idly watching as the silky strands slipped through his fingers. Parker sat on the other side, playing with stickers and magnets. Some of the others had drawn on his arm with markers, something Brock would have never allowed before. Winter didn't seem to mind. He just seemed happy, reading a book off of Steve's phone and humming. Rogers sat on Brock's other side. He seemed like he was enjoying the movie, not that Brock would expect anything else.

"Want any tea?" Steve whispered. He glanced towards Brock and kissed him slowly, gently. Brock almost froze up. He didn't know how to deal with gentle. Everyone he'd been with, from the first guy he'd ever slept with, to all the STRIKE assholes he'd called friends, had been rough with him. He'd bled the first time. Hell, Winter made him bleed on a regular basis. Steve must have noticed that Brock had frozen up, because he leaned closer and brushed his lips over Steve's ear. "You know, you can tell me no. I can't read your mind."

"Tea would be nice." Brock swallowed. "Actually, get some for Winter, too. He likes that blueberry stuff." It actually helped him go to sleep. The time gap would also help still Brock's beating heart. He watched Steve leave, ignoring the others. They were right - he didn't deserve any of this. Maybe he didn't deserve to be tortured by HYDRA for all those months, but he sure as hell didn't deserve to have Captain fucking _America_ go make him a cup of Blueberry Happiness Tea. Brock was pretty sure he'd never had anyone be gentle with him. Then there was that small matter of crawling in Steve's lap and kissing him in full view of every fucking squid Nazi that didn't die in the Trisk.

Yeah. Brock was fucked. In more ways than one.

Stark straightened up some. "You need something?"

"Therapy," Brock muttered. He didn't know if Steve wanted sex or if he just wanted sex. It was fifty fifty either way and there really was no telling. Brock just didn't want to find out the hard way. He reached over as best he could, only for Barton to pass him the throw pillow he was straining for. That, Brock tucked under Josef's head. The big guy squirmed a little, but he went back to sleep. He seemed like he was pretty happy and yeah, that was the best way. Brock knew what unhappy Soldiers could do all too well. He was pretty sure Steve could do the same. Brock shuddered some, wondering what it would feel like when Steve finally lost his mind and beat the hell out of Brock for whatever reason.

"One sugar or two?" Steve called.

"One for me, two or Winter!" Brock yelled. He gave Stark a hopeless look and leaned forwards. Winter squirmed some, but he moved so he was comfortable again. Brock mostly ignored him. "What the fuck am I gonna do?"

"About?" Stark cocked his head. "Does sit back and recover even begin to register with you? Because I think you should sit back and rest. Don't worry your pretty little mind about anything but getting better and helping me design that prosthetic for you."

"I ain't good enough for him!" Brock hissed. He looked up with wild, dark eyes. He could feel the panic creeping up again and he knew just how dark those places could get. Brock swallowed. "I... I don't know what he wants and even if I did, there's no guarantee I can give it to him!" Brock twisted as best he could, but his body made that hurt just a little bit too much. "I... Look. Everyone I've been with has been rough. I dunno what I'm gonna do when he wants to sit there kissing and my brain feels like I'm back in that cage!"

It was different before he lost his leg. Brock had lost just about everything that day. His confidence was just another causality of the war inside his mind.

Tony shook his head. "I do not have the time to unpack all of that, but you can say no and I think you should get used to exercising that right." He glanced to Winter and his lip curled like he was looking at roadkill. "Though I don't know why you keep that one around you all the time. Josef I can get - he's cute. But Barnes? Rumlow... Rhodey told me _everything_. We need to get him help or lock him up and throw away the key."

Brock flinched like he'd been struck. "He told you...?"

"That's called rape and if I have to add a 'thou shalt not rape' to the rules, I'm gonna be pissed," Stark growled. "This is my house. He can learn to follow my rules. He's got the impulse control to stop grabbing bacon off the stove. He can learn to keep his dick to himself. It ain't that hard." Stark rolled his eyes and reached for the tumbler he always kept within easy reach. "God, I can't believe I'm having to teach an _adult_ about consent."

Winter looked up and cocked his head. "What's consent?"

"That's when you ask to touch someone," Stark replied. "You know, not just jamming your dick up someone's ass as they scream." He got up and glared at both Brock and a confused Winter. "I'm not sober enough for this. I just_ can't_. Rogers! Come deal with your HYDRA rejects before I go insane!"

"I'm waiting on the tea!" Rogers bellowed back. He wandered back in, holding three mugs of a blue-purple tea. Brock drank his silently, the heat burning his fingers and keeping him grounded. Winter and Josef shared their mug. They seemed completely peaceful, a sharp contrast to the pain and fear swirling through Brock's mind. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Rogers seemed to want more than what Brock was able to give. He just didn't know he was going to do. If he made the wrong move... Brock shuddered, but he could smell the saltwater stench of the Raft from here.

He looked down and gripped the mug tighter. Brock couldn't go there. He just _couldn't_.


	22. Chapter 22

Brock gripped the coffee cup with trembling hands. He didn't want to look up at the Stark supplied therapist or divulge any of his past. He just _didn't_. Doctor Robinson seemed to be a decent guy, but Brock just didn't want to dump his past on some innocent person. Robinson said he was okay with just sitting there in silence until Brock was ready to speak. That, in and of itself, was a relief. Brock hadn't ever talked to any of the SHIELD appointed therapists (and what a conversation _that_ would have been. "Oh yes, I let the Winter Soldier do whatever he wants with me. What? No? I'm not HYDRA, why are you asking and why are you calling the cops?") for a reason.

He wasn't breaking his rule now.

"How are you taking the wheelchair?" Robinson pressed. He leaned forwards, his dark eyes keen. Brock just gripped the coffee cup harder. The handle cracked in his hands and he looked at himself in disgust. Robinson cleared his throat and took the broken mug away. "Are you in pain? Are you finding it hard to adjust?"

"I hate it," Brock muttered. He gave Robinson a nasty look. "I _hate_ it. I hate it when fuckheads try to 'help' and I hate it when Barnes just grabs me up like I'm a rag doll." Brock cursed himself softly. He'd survived worse. If he was complaining now, there was something wrong with him. He hadn't complained about the months of rape. He wasn't going to start now. Brock gripped the hand rails. "I want my goddam legs back and I don't care what I have to do to get it! Stark can give Rhodes an exo-suit! Why can't he get me something?!"

Brock actually knew the answer. He had nerve damage that Rhodes didn't. His spine had been fractured into a million pieces and Rhodes' had been snapped. It was a clean break and relatively intact nerves versus something that got obliterated by HYDRA. Yeah, there was no way he was going to walk after that. The metal fitting on his stump was just there because HYDRA was governed by incompetents. If Brock had been in charge, he would have made sure that no one's spine got broken. Walking wasn't ever going to be in the cards for him again. He was still crippled. Still useless in a fight. Brock only had one leg. He couldn't fight. He couldn't do anything of any use. Why did Stark bother to keep him around, if not for how he settled Barnes?

"Have you asked him?" Robinson asked. He leaned forwards. "I know Tony Stark is a very busy man, but I'm pretty sure that you could settle something with him. You could start with a prosthetic leg."

"That's completely fucking useless because this morning's MRI showed that my spine is a splintered mess," Brock tartly said. He gave the man an acidic smile. "What's the use of a leg if I can't even stand up right?" Why would Stark waste any of his time on a HYDRA castoff like him? There was literally nothing of any value left. He couldn't fight, couldn't shoot, couldn't do anything except let Barnes fuck him. And Steve. And Josef, if Josef wanted him. Knowing super soldiers, there was no telling what he might do.

"It might help your dysmorphia," Robinson gently said. "You're fixating on your leg right now. You have the serum and you might be preventing your spine from healing correctly."

"I didn't know you were a doctor," Brock growled. He pushed himself back up and grabbed for his coffee. He dared Robinson to tell him no. He really did. But the man just smiled. Brock bristled a little bit. "What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?! I can't read minds, dammit!" He jerked his head some, cold chills breaking out over his back. This reminded him of the one time he'd tried to seek out counseling. Of course, he'd been a kid and everything that had been offered might have been called 'faith based' if one was being generous. Brock hunched over again like he was still getting screamed at. Like it was his fault for being abused. "I can't even read Barnes' mind and he's like a fucking cement mixer."

"I'm not going to diagnose you with anything," Robinson replied.

"You already did, dumb ass. You told Tony I had PTSD." Brock gave the man a nasty look. He really wasn't in the mood for anything like that.

"I would like you to stop using coarse language." Robinson leaned back. "Calling me a dumb ass isn't going to help you."

Brock noted that Robinson didn't refute the accusation. He'd only heard half the conversation but what he did hear pissed him off regularly. Stark didn't need to know that he had PTSD. Course, everyone probably knew that he had PTSD from the way he acted. But as far as he cared, Tony could say whatever he wanted. Just as long as no one touched his body. That, of course, was a pipe dream. A broken man had no place in HYDRA's society. Hell, a broken man had no place in SHIELD. It wasn't like Brock was eligible for the benefits and the back pay anyways. He wasn't going to sue them - Brock counted himself lucky that he wasn't tossed in the Raft and left to rot in his own shit.

"I'm done with this," Brock muttered. He backed up, cursing as he tried to navigate out of the room. Half the Tower wasn't set up for a wheelchair user. The halls were too narrow and parts were strewn with cables and other things Brock couldn't get over. There were even rooms he couldn't go into because the doorways weren't right. Brock just wanted his legs back, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. That just wasn't something he could have, wasn't it?

Steve was waiting from him once he was done wrestling with the elevator. "So. Did it go well?"

"What do you think?" Brock snarled.

"Just keep trying," Steve advised. He stood back and allowed Brock to struggle as much as he wanted too. Steve just offered him a tired smile. "You can do it, Brock. I know you can."

Brock wished he had half the faith in himself that Steve did. He really did.


	23. Chapter 23

Brock settled himself into Winter's arms, letting the soldier whine and nuzzle at him. Winter had missed him. He didn't understand why Brock couldn't get up and lead him anymore or work out with him in the gym. They had reached a compromise - swimming - and Brock was allowed to do it as long as Steve helped. Brock didn't mind having Steve dress him. Steve was nicer about it than the droids were and he was more willing to stop when Brock whined and turned his head. None of the others had - Jack had tried to hurt him just for the sake of it and the others hadn't been much better. Brock tried not to feel too pathetically grateful for the care, but he was. He was having a hard time turning that off now.

Winter carried him to the gym, humming softly. Winter's arms were gentle, touching him where he liked to be touched and how he liked it. They had allowed him to wear a shirt with his swimming trunks, so he felt much better. Brock buried his face into Winter's neck and tried to ignore the business people who gaped. Brock wanted to scream that he was a person, that just because he only had one leg didn't make him anything less than, but there was no way he could do that now. HYDRA had taken any dignity he might have tried to keep. He was nothing to them, just like he was nothing to SHIELD. For his part, Winter growled at them and squeezed Brock just a little bit tighter.

Steve stopped them before they reached the pool. "So. Rumlow. Do we want to try the harness or do you want - "

"No harness." Brock shook his head, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. "I'll take my chances, thank you."

It felt nice to have someone respect his choices and all Steve did was get in the water before nodding for Bucky to lower him down. Brock braced himself - expecting it to be cold - but the water was pleasantly warm and he allowed himself to relax. Steve held him securely as he waited for Winter. Winter whined, but he followed Brock quickly. He seemed to be quite jumpy in the water, almost like he wanted _out_ and he didn't care what he had to do to get out. He stayed put, though, as Steve carefully passed Brock over to him. Brock decided not to mention that he wasn't able to swim before this - the best he could do was doggy paddle and hope for the best. Besides that, he couldn't move the only leg he had.

Brock tried to relax and let the water carry him. There looked like massaging jets, so he tried to paddle his way over there. Winter got the idea and helped him sit in front of something that felt so good that Brock decided it counted as therapy. He relaxed, allowing the water to work the muscles on his back. Steve decided that he was going to swim laps in the deep end and Brock decided he was going to watch and enjoy the eye candy. It was nice to appreciate something that he was pretty sure wouldn't bite him in the ass later. Steve, at least, would use lube. That was more than what he could say for Winter and most of HYDRA. Brock popped out what he could of his back and rested back.

Winter whined and clawed at Brock's arms. "Brock..."

"Yeah?" Brock splashed in the water some, enjoying the warmth. He might not have been getting his exercise, but this felt better than anything like that.

"Wanna go swim with Stevie..." Winter whined. He played with his cinnamon brown hair, his blue eyes darting over to the man currently enjoying himself in the deep end. "Want Stevie..."

"I'm not stopping you," Brock replied. "Go swim with him."

"Want you, too." Winter crossed his arms, pouting.

Brock groaned softly. "Barnes, I can't swim now and I couldn't swim then. Go have fun with him and I'll try not to fall asleep over here." He waved his hands and tried to shoo Winter off. "Go on, Winter. Go have fun." Winter stayed put. Brock pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing softly. "Go have fun with Steve, Winter. That's an order."

Winter splashed him, but he stalked off. Right before he pounced on Steve and dunked him under the water. Steve broke the surface with a shout, right before he returned the favor. Winter laughed - a joyful sound Brock rarely heard - and pushed Steve. The two roughhoused in the deep water, creating waves that jostled Brock slightly. Brock gripped the railing just a little bit tighter. The next time he did this, he was going to have to ask for a book and his reading glasses. Maybe he could ask Stark to design a sort of chair for him, so he could enjoy a more stable perch and still enjoy the water. He didn't swim as it was and it wasn't like the water could lift his body up.

Brock watched Steve and Winter. He remembered when that had been him and his men. Even Jack. That time they had wrecked a hotel pool and then had SHIELD foot the bill. Or that time they had been holed for in Scargill for a week and wound up being roped into an archaeological dig. That one had been fun - and no one could stop them from sleeping in a gatehouse and acting like they were Medieval knights. Well, until they had ran afoul of the site manager. She had been all of 5'3 and a hundred ten pounds soaking wet, but she had been fierce and she made sure everyone understood that if you harassed the horses and got bit (in his defense, that had been Collier), it was your own damn fault and you could patch yourself up on your own time, but don't let your dirty blood contaminate my tenth century cist burial.

He missed being able to just... _move_ like that.Brock sighed and watched, trying to ignore the jealousy budding in his chest. It wasn't their fault that he was laid up. If anything, it was his. He'd been the one to chose the military after high school and he'd allowed himself to be warped into HYDRA. If anything, he deserved what had happened to him - if you asked the first man to hurt him, Brock deserved everything for 'losing a faith' he had never really held to begin with. Brock couldn't think of the man's name without wanting to puke or smelling the reek of old sweat and mothballs. He shook off the old memories and tried to calm down. The man was long dead - there was no way he could hurt Brock now.

If anyone tried that, Brock was pretty sure that Winter and Josef would kill him in short order.

He relaxed as best he could, trying not to think about anything too much. He needed to catch up on his Time Team and maybe after those two were done, he could curl up with a Tablet and a cup of tea for a few hours. A needy Winter or Josef wasn't included in this little fantasy of his and Brock tried not to feel too guilty about it. They had taken so much from him.

It was time he got something in return.


	24. Chapter 24

Brock lay back in the bed. His hips hurt and the last thing he wanted to do was lay in the bed all day. Of course, his damn spine meant that he couldn't get up. He couldn't walk. All he could do was sit around and get fat. The swimming was great until he got tired. Then he couldn't get out without help. It was a pain in the ass to get someone willing to go swimming with him. All of the exercise tips he had were for someone who had a working spine. He couldn't exactly do crunches, sit up, and pull ups when he couldn't move his legs. He could try to do upper body exercises, but it did little more than exercise his arms and stretch his legs. He'd gone from very toned to skeletal to fat.

Brock pinched a good inch of fat on his stomach and tried to swallow the rising horror. He liked not having an ounce of wasted flesh. He'd been beautiful then and now he was turning into nothing but a flat slob. If he was able, he would have started to cut the fats and sugars out of his diet. Sadly for him, he was on a carefully balanced diet. Steve wouldn't be happy if he stopped eating or reduced his calorie intake. Brock just didn't know if the guy wanted him to be a disgusting slob. It had taken him a long time to accept his own sexuality and all the crap that came with that. His foster parents hadn't sent him to a camp once they had found out, but it had been close and Brock still had nightmares of that day.

He shook his head. After a few minutes, he picked Steve's phone and scrolled through the list of approved exercises for quadriplegics. He started with the hand exercises, carefully following the video along to regain his lost dexterity. Brock wanted to be able to write his own name again and not use the fucking chunky silverware. Everything else was easy and by the time he was done, the top half of his body had the pleasant burn of exercise. The rest of him was nothing more than dead, useless meat. Brock lowered himself back and swore under his breath. Some of these needed two people to really do right. It wasn't like he could ask Steve to help him and Barnes was going to be less than useless.

"Stupid leg," Brock muttered softly. He reached for the sparkling cider and scowled at it. "And I can't get drunk. What a sorry sight I am."

"Brock?" Josef poked his head in the room. "Brock! I'm bored."

"And I can't walk," Brock replied. "Tough luck. Deal with it, Jo-Jo. It's not my job to entertain you." Brock rolled over as best he could, grabbing for the book he was reading. At least he was catching up on his playlist during all of this. "Go read a book or watch a movie."

"But I can't read," Josef whined.

"E-books." Brock gave Josef another dirty look. "Or something like that, you Russian pain in the ass."

Yes, he was grumpy. Yes, he was taking it out on Josef. No he didn't care. He knew what he was doing was wrong. Josef wanted to watch cartoons, not watch Time Team or read a book. It sucked to be him - Brock didn't intend to watch cartoons anytime soon. He settled down on the bed, put the phone down, and picked up the e-reader he'd gotten from Steve. They were going to catch up on Time Team or Worst Jobs in History. If Josef wanted to watch something else, he could go deal with it. Brock was going to enjoy his island fortress episode. Josef could get over himself and no amount of whining and fussing could get him to change his mind. Or...

"If you help me do exercises," Brock lightly suggested. "I might let you watch old _Peanuts_ episodes. That, or we can just watch this. It's history, you missed all of that."

"No," Josef grumbled. He grabbed the reader and frowned. "I was on Jersey. They didn't like us very much. Someone dumped a chamber pot on my head and Commander Heinz wouldn't let me wash all day." He bit his bottom lip. "They had... I think they had slaves? Common criminals. I don't remember a lot of it. Winter wasn't with me. The locals made the ordinance go bang."

"You should call them," Brock replied. He rolled his eyes when Josef went for the phone. "Not for real, you idiot! The series is over! I don't think he would want some gibbering idiot calling him up about a war that was lost seventy years ago! The dig is over with. They're not going to talk to you." Well, Brock hoped so. He didn't want to think about Josef working for Hilter's Nazis, even though he knew that Josef wouldn't have had any choice. As a Russian, Josef should have been killed or tossed in a camp. Brock grumbled softly. "Don't go bothering random people with your war stories. That's rude."

"But I was there!" Josef whined. "They were nice to me!"

"Because they would have _died_ otherwise," Brock snarled. He grabbed a pillow and swatted at Josef. "Shut up and watch the damn video, Jo-Jo. I'm not in the mood for this right now."

Josef swallowed some and stroked the screen. "I remember the tunnels," he softly said. "I don't remember a lot. It was... it was bad. I remember... I remember killing a guard. He was kinda a dick. So I... I think I snapped his neck? But he was cruel and Stefan was sick...." Josef swallowed. "They beat me. They beat me a lot. But they were... they were my people."

"Why don't we watch something else?" Brock softly suggested. He didn't like the look in Josef's blue eyes or the way he was whining and jerking his head. "You wanted to see _Peanuts_, right?"

Josef nodded and pressed into Brock's arms. "I liked it when he told me I was a good boy. I am a good boy, right?"

"You're a very good boy," Brock murmured. He switched over to something much happier, watching the fragile man in his arms. Maybe he needed to actually think about what he was watching and try not to scare him too much, no matter how annoying he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ideas for his exercises come from this article: https://www.flintrehab.com/2019/quadriplegic-exercises/\
> 
> Brock watched this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lg2wp6E8U84


	25. Chapter 25

Brock pawed at Rogers, trying to get his heavy ass on the _other_ side of the bed. Rogers and Barnes radiated heat something awful and Brock had just about had enough. Ge pushed them both off and tried to get up. His spine had been healing some - thank the stars for little miracles - but he still couldn't walk. Brock resigned himself to not being able to walk again as he reached for the wheelchair in the darkened room. It took him a few minutes to find everything and to ease himself into the leather seat. Brock stripped off his shirt. He loosened the pants and tried to cool the rest of his overheated body down. The water he kept by the bed helped and so did a trip into the much cooler bathroom.

Back in the cage, Brock would have drank the heat up. Now he was dying and he was a fool for not taking what he could get, when he could get it. Brock shook his head as he slumped against the cool glass of the shower. He didn't know why Rogers had decided to take him on. He was just a broken man, something that could never be healed, and he couldn't even stand the super soldier cuddle pile. Brock picked himself up and wheeled his way down to the lift. He couldn't sleep. Maybe there was something on TV, some kind of True Crime show he could watch while trying to do his exercises. Brock was starting to feel better about himself and he'd lost some of the weight he'd put on.

Rogers was concerned, but Brock ignored him. He was getting good at ignoring those hurt puppy stares.

Brock eased himself out of the wheelchair and relaxed against the plush could. If he got cold, he could grab one of the blankets to wrap up. He grabbed his computer, his lap desk, and a pillow before pulling his legs under himself. It was more comfortable that way, resting his hip and elbow against the soft brown material. He kept the volume and light low before he started working on the journal project he'd been given. The fancy SHIELD therapist he'd been given said this might help him. Brock was inclined to believe him, as Doctor Shoshanna was a nice person. They could talk about things they had both gone through. Her father had forced her family to eat dog food to survive during the winter and his made them live in a house made of hay bales. It was an odd relationship, but it worked.

"Rumlow?"

Brock looked up and waved Sam over. "Huh. You're here."

"I live here?" Wilson slowly said. He leaned against a wall and raised one brow. "Any particular reason why you're not in bed right now?"

"Couldn't sleep." Brock tried to angle his body away from the other man. It was hard, but he could do it. "If you're looking for payback from the fight, I can't do anything to stop you." He paused. "It was nothing personal, just so you know. I thought I could save my ass by following orders." Brock laughed bitterly and lowered his head. "You can guess how well that worked - you saw the blood, right?"

"I'm not impressed by that," Wilson softly said. He sighed, rubbing his face. "I don't know what your little game with that it, but it's not working. I don't pity you, Rumlow. Can I stand you? No. But I don't pity you."

"That's a first," Brock muttered. He gave Wilson a tired look. "Good to know, that. Now can you leave me alone?"

Wilson sat beside him and rubbed his face. "I'm worried about you, you know."

"I know." Brock looked up. He swallowed and only managed a whisper. "Thank you."

It was all he could say and he hoped Wilson could understand.


	26. Chapter 26

Brock curled up beside Winter, allowing the other man to press as close to him as he wanted. That was what this life was all about, then. Choices. The choice to sleep when he wanted, where he wanted, and with who he wanted. The choice to do whatever he damn well felt like with his own body. All of it was the most amazing thing in the world and he wanted as much of it as he could get, especially if that meant he could still keep curled up with Winter. Steve, he could tolerate. Winter, though, was pretty much the love of his life. Even if Winter had hurt him, Brock still knew that the other man did care for him. Steve was just a little too rough, a little too forceful, but Brock could manage.

Honestly, he'd done worse.

He hummed some, tracing out little shapes on Winter's hand. The other man watched him with gentle blue eyes and he focused on Brock. It didn't feel like he was being skewered by cold blue lasers. No, it was something different. Something gentle. Something that only he and Winter had. Brock's relationship with Steve was a bit different, but he could tolerate that. He'd been to enough classes on diversity to know that just because something was a bit different didn't mean that it was bad or somehow less than. He did enjoy being with Steve, even though the other man liked to curl up around him and not let go. He seemed to understand that Brock wanted to do things himself.

Getting around with a wheelchair wasn't fun. Getting pushed around by well meaning people made it worse. On the plus side, though, Brock was pretty sure that he was getting some buffed up arms. It was nice, too. Brock leaned himself back, adjusting his body and popping out what he could of his spine. He'd promised that he was going to read to Winter and Josef today and they had chosen a book about some Unsung Heroes. Brock rubbed the book's creased and worn spine. He tried to ignore the hokey men in uniforms on front, even though he was drawn to a man with curly black hair and dark brown eyes. He didn't know who the man was, of course, but he wondered if Josef did.

After all, this was Josef's book he was about to read.

Steve poked his head in the room. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nope." Brock patted the space beside him. "Sit down. We're just waiting on Josef - I think he wanted to get some popcorn."

He shook his head ruefully. This was his life now, babysitting super soldiers while others got in on the action. In a way, he was okay with that. Brock had been getting too old for field missions anyways, so he figured that he could take an early retirement. If anyone deserved it, he did. The dark haired man hummed some as he sat there, thumbing through the pages of the old and worn book. He had his water, Winter had him, and Josef was going to get his umpteenth snack of the day. There was something about that man and food -he was worse than Garfield.

Brock smiled to himself. He enjoyed being able to read the funny papers without getting looked down on. Yeah, maybe he wasn't reading about Moby Dick or some stuck up Regency heroine who existed to get married to some frumpy old man with sixteen bastard children. But he enjoyed it, so that counted for something. It was like what the lady on the internet said - it sparked joy, so he should keep it. Brock fluffed up the pillows with his free hand, mulling over his thoughts over. Maybe this was him marking out the red in his ledger. He'd hurt Winter and Steve, so now it was his turn to pay it back. Brock hummed softly and stared tugging his hand through Winter's long locks as Josef slipped back in and offered the others popcorn.

Brock rested against Steve, opened the book, and began to read.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't judge me. This idea has been rolling around in my head for months now and I finally got bored enough to put pen to paper, if you will. I've been reading too much fanfiction and this is what came out of it. I'm also working on my very own original series and messing around with this idea helps write it out. IDK, I'm just rambling here.
> 
> Don't like? Don't read. Read the damn tags and don't send me hate.


End file.
